


No Price Too Great; No Distance Too Far

by AkumaStrife



Series: We Found The World Exposed [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: All Fantasy Essentials, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Dragons, Druids, Everyone Has A Past And Flirts Shamelessly But it's Whatever, Getting Together, Kingdom Politics in Abstract, M/M, Mutual Pining, Necromancers, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkumaStrife/pseuds/AkumaStrife
Summary: Gansey had it all figured out. Behave at court, keep his best friend-turned-bodyguard out of trouble, sneak off into town to see the blacksmith as much as possible, and find his Dead Welsh King to fulfill his quest and prove himself worthy to the kingdom at large.And then Helen found Orla. And then Helen found the Dragons. And then Helen abdicated the throne to pursue both, leaving the kingdom and all it's responsibilities on Gansey's shoulders.Gansey had his whole life figured out. It'd only taken one month for it to crumble around him. Now he has a kingdom, a shaken alliance with the neighboring kingdom and his betrothed, a Necromancer intent on using his life to complete an decades old ritual, and whispers of a haunting in his palace.Gansey has two weeks to fix it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the Magical Fantasy Medieval AU that no one asked for because it's tailored to me specifically. Love me some Middle Age Fantasy bs
> 
> Biggest shout out to [Mist](seekthemist.tumblr.com) and [Kier (my artist!!) ](kieranfae.tumblr.com) for cheering me on and keeping me sane during this event, for sprinting with me constantly, and for shamelessly encouraging me to expand the universe eventually with a few more fics ;)

Gansey watched as Ronan took his usual post at the front of the smithy. Ronan leaned in the open doorway, looking out into the street, his arms crossed tightly whereas the rest of him was lax. It was calculatedly casual, and really, was there any better description for the way Ronan carried himself most days?

“You’re unhappy,” Gansey said.

“Course I’m fucking unhappy,” Ronan spit. He didn’t turn around. His shoulders tightened under his jerkin, but shifted his feet into a more comfortable stance; less ready to take the head off the next person who came too close.

“We knew this was a possibility.”

Ronan scoffed. “It shouldn’t be.” He shook rainwater off one boot, tucking himself inside the frame of the door and closer to the warmth of the forge.

He was antsy, Gansey could see it clear as day. But he knew Ronan better than anyone: it wasn’t violence itching at the ends of his fingertips, but fear.

“Settle down,” Adam said, muffled from behind Gansey’s horse. “You’re spooking the animals.” On cue, Pignus shifted and shook her wide head, eyes rolling toward Adam.

Gansey stepped forward and patted her neck, shushing her, absently smiling when her ear flicked toward him.

Ronan muttered something unflattering that Gansey pretended to ignore, but did as he was told for once.

With everyone calmed for the moment, Gansey sighed and leaned into Pignus’ neck, rubbing at his eyes—the charm to correct his vision irritated when he was tired, and he slept even less these days.

He said, “Feel free to dismiss him, Adam. I would hate for him to get in the way of your work.”

Adam snorted a short laugh. “I’m almost done here. Be more work to send him off, only to call him back. Much as I’d like to.” It held no heat, no weight.

Gansey laughed as Ronan shifted just enough to show the corner of his scowl over his shoulder. Everything about this moment was familiar and well-worn into a comfortable niche. It lifted Gansey’s spirits, just a little.

“Very true,” Gansey praised.

Adam said nothing of that, but rounded Gansey’s too-large mount and patter her flank. “That should hold, your highness. Don’t know how Pig keeps throwing her shoes, and I don’t know what sort of hostler you’ve got up at the palace, but these will be better.” His lips twitched, almost a smile, almost shy, almost bravado. It warmed Gansey, as familiar as the first warm glow of sunshine after a frost.

“If I didn’t know better,” Adam continued, “someone might think you were doing it on purpose.” The accusation hung unvoiced, but echoing, between them.

Gansey smiled with all the charisma he could muster on such a dreary day, because he found Adam incredibly charming at his best and he wished to match it. “I would never do that to Pig, you know that.”

“I do.” Adam ducked his head, a show of respect just shy of a proper bow Gansey’s station required. Gansey had almost worked it out of him by this point.

Ronan grumbled, and knocked his fist against the door frame to interrupt. It dismantled whatever unknowable feeling had been building in the air. “What if he went hunting?”

Gansey furrowed his brows, thoughts spinning to catch up with whatever path Ronan’s had been traveling without him. “In this weather? You can’t be serious. We’d be soaked within the hour. And all the smart animals will have found shelter from the rain.”

“Fishing, then.”

“You’re catch your death along with the trout,” Adam said reproachfully.

Ronan glared at him, as if he found that preferable to the alternative. Which was, much to Gansey’s own dismay,

“We have to return.” It was an order to Ronan as much as an apology to Adam. He’d stay if he could, hiding among the glowing embers and the rhythmic sounds of Adam’s work. Neither of them looked happy about it.

“They’re waiting for us. I won’t keep Mother and Father any longer. They’ve got enough to deal with and I won’t add myself to it.”

Ronan scowled. “It’d serve them right. Gans, we were supposed—”

“I know what we were supposed to do,” Gansey snapped. He regretted it immediately. More so once he caught the stricken (and then resigned) look that flashed across Adam’s face. But he didn’t need Ronan, of all people, to remind him of all he was being required to put behind them. Ronan didn’t have the same weight on his shoulders, only Gansey’s expectations. Gansey had an entire kingdom’s.

‘Forgive me, Adam, but I can’t linger any longer, much as I’d like to. Thank you for your work today, Pig should be much more comfortable.” He offered a smile and a hand as a peace offering.

Adam took his fingers, but bowed his head over it, and it felt like defeat. “No need to apologize, your highness.”

Gansey squeezed his fingers, impulsively bringing them up to touch his forehead, before letting them go. Adam’s face was flushed when he looked up, but said nothing, only handing over his cloak where it had been drying by the hearth.

Gansey slung it over his shoulders and pulled up the hood, letting Ronan lead out of the smithy. He allowed himself one fleeting look back, and a wave that promised _until next time._

The rain had lessened to a drizzle as they reached the market, but it still weighed everything down in a dreary and clinging chill. Gansey tightened his knees around Pig and tugged at his cloak, wrapping it in around himself more securely to keep the damp out. He envied Ronan, whose shoulders were tall and straight, looking unaffected and entirely at home in the gloom of an evening set in too soon.

He urged Pig up even with Ronan’s horse, Bea. He was a striking horse that often turned heads for his… unusual color. His well-cared for coat shone grey as brightly as a silver star, and nimble as a viper on top of it.

Both boys wordlessly keeping their pace slow and meandering.

“Ro…”

“Don’t.”

“You’ll stay beside me?”

“Through hell and back,” Gans.”

Gansey breathed easier, a knot of tension loosening in his chest. Ronan reached to elbow him sharply, turning Bea with his knees to crowd into Pig to make Pig whicker and stumble off pace: a declaration of affection as loud as Ronan ever made in the public eye.

It warmed Gansey down to his bones where the rain couldn’t reach. He let that warmth fill the cavity between his ribs that had been aching all day with the longing for everything he could no longer have.

 

~*~

 

When they returned to the castle, it was bustling with staff activity as usual. Yet these days it almost seemed more so with the upheaval Helen’s abdication had caused and every political readjustment his parents were having to mitigate.

As hurried as the staff was, though, they still gave Gansey and Ronan a wide berth as the two moved through the halls; Gansey’s cloak fluttering wide and Ronan’s boots heavy and thundering. Sometimes Gansey heard people whisper about the echoing crack of imposing trees deep in the forest where things were often found to be living and cursed. Sometimes Gansey heard people say the exact same about Ronan when he walked like this: steps measured, body honed dangerous, eyes narrowed sharp, commanding fear and respect in equal measure.

Ronan smiled meanly at a maid who flinched and skittered closer to the wall. Gansey left him be; he was too distracted, too lost in thought. He itched for his journal, for the soft leaves of his mint plant, for Adam’s logical mind, for the comfort of his overstuffed library.

Instead, he let himself into the council room. His parents were looking over documents, and seated down the table were Helen and her new beau. Gansey ignored the advisers present for now.

He pulled up short at the far end of the table, feet together, shoulders rigid, bowing. “Mother, Father. Helen.”

“Hello, little prince,” Orla crooned. “And to your pet snake.”

Gansey stiffened, but bowed to her as well. Ronan did not.

“I see they’re letting just anyone weigh in.”

“Seem to be, if you’re here.”

Ronan snorted, fists clenching at his sides in a soft creak of leather. Gansey put a hand on Ronan’s shoulder and pushed, just slightly.

For all the trouble she’d caused, Gansey liked Orla. Even if she was… forward. She was certainly made for palace life, if nothing else. Her warm, dark skin was smooth with expensive lotions and dressed in the latest fashions; everywhere she floated, she trailed whispering fabrics and the scent of exotic flowers. Today a heavy gold necklace dripping with garnets and opal drops—a gift from Helen—adorned her neck and chest.

She was beautiful, if intimidating with her boundless confidence, and Gansey could see why Helen had let her head be turned.

Gansey squeezed Ronan’s shoulder, once more, warning, before letting go and clearing his throat. “I apologize for our tardiness. I had to get Pignus re-shoed.”

His parents traded a heavy look, one that Gansey had spent a year pretending not to see.

“Down in town,” Helen guessed, trading her own laden look with Orla. It was lighter, but still a juvenile mirror of his parents, and he didn’t care for it. It spoke of a dynamic that no longer included him, newly separated from his sister’s confidences in a way he’d never been before. It left him unbalanced and wanting.

Still he nodded in answer to her, flicking her gaze back to his parents. “The Cheng’s are set to arrive in three days, yes? For the summit.”

His mother nodded. “Have you thought more about what I said.”

“Yes,” Gansey said, after a moment of hesitation. “But if I may suggest? Why don’t we move this to the summer retreat?”

Richard Gansey the Second narrowed his eyes.

“Hear me out, if you would.” Gansey leaned forward to place his hands on the table. It was worn and smoothed down from generations of meetings just like this one; it was familiar and steadying under his hands—comfortable where his new and tenuous station was not. He belonged here, at this table, if nothing else. This was his table as much as it was anyone else’s.

“The retreat is beautiful this time of year. We can show the Cheng’s the best of what our land has to offer. And if we have the discussions away from the capital, perhaps they will be more at ease. Less likely to feel the gravity of these matters of state. More agreeable.” He raised his chin. “It’s just as much about the agreement between Prince Henry and I, and if you’re intending for me to take over where Helen has—”

“Watch it,” Helen said. “Your tongue might be silver, but it will still bleed.”  But there was a faltered pause at the end, a familiar nickname meant to be there and yet passed over for the sake of decorum. Orla lifted a hand decorated in rings and ink to hide the smirk.

Gansey’s look to her softened, tipping his head a fraction in acknowledgment of the intended tone.

He changed his angle. “Please, let me do this my way. I am ready to begin my training as Regent, but until then there are certain things that need to be tied up, and issues to be resolved. I will take all responsibility for them.”

He could practically feel Ronan’s smug amusement from beside him, just behind his shoulder as stature required. Ronan was laughing at him, knowing all the pretty words Gansey saved for getting what he wanted.

“I’d like to hear your proposals,” his mother allowed. “Before you present them to the Cheng’s.”

“And you will, I promise. But let us go to the retreat first. Let us make friends with them, before we start putting out fires. I’m sure we can come up with a solution that suits everyone. Even if it isn’t the one we began with.” 

His heart was pounding, using a lifetime of practice and good breeding to keep his expression pleasant and blank. He needed this to work, and then everything else would fall into place.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Orla said, to the surprise of everyone. Or maybe it was that she was being allowed to weigh in at all that made Gansey’s father frown.

They’d all turned to look at her, but if the weight of that many royal eyes on her made her nervous, it didn’t show. She was relaxed and sure as always, but there was a look in her eyes, an emotion hiding in the corner of her full lips. “I can get out the cards, if you’d like, but I can assure you,” and here she looked directly at Gansey, “this is the only course of action that will not end in ruin.”

In their kingdom, the word of an oracle, even a lesser one, was as good as divine providence.

After what felt like an eternity of the room holding its breath, the Queen inclined her head. “We’ll allow it.”

Gansey finally breathed. He wanted badly to each back for Ronan, but kept his posture perfect.

Orla had not looked away from him. For a moment, it seemed it wasn’t only Orla in her deep eyes.

 

**~*~**

 

“You sure this is smart?” Gansey asked. He led Ronan away from the council chamber, their shoulders brushing and heads bent together. It used to be the cause of much gossip, how close the Prince and his guard were, but now it was as much a fixture of the palace as the sconces. Most staff passed them without so much as a glance. 

“Maybe not,” Ronan allowed. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, scanning the halls idly as they went. He was looking for someone, but Gansey had stopped asking who. “But if we get you out of the palace, there’s fewer places for him to hide.”

“And you’re sure—”

“Of course I am,” Ronan snapped.

“That it’s the necromancer, I mean. I believe you, I promise. I just wish you’d trust me with your source.”  Gansey placed a hand on Ronan’s arm, squeezing when he trembled with restrained energy under the touch. He chewed his bottom lip, rubbing at the bridge of his nose where his glasses now sat. “How bad is it.”

“Very.” Ronan changed course to bodily steer Gansey into an alcove, putting his hand against the opposite wall and blocking anyone from thinking to follow or linger. He shifted his body into the opening as well, keeping himself between Gansey and the rest of the world. “There’s someone after your life, Gans. It’s not a matter of state. It’s older than that. Old magic. Big magic. Magic that does not come without a price.”

Gansey looked down, processing. He lifted a hand to absently trace the raven pendant that clasped Ronan’s jacket snug at his neck. His fingers followed the well-worn ridges of metal and sharp design.

Once Ronan had used it to maim a man. Sometimes Gansey would catch light glinting off the pendant and stop in his tracks, remembering vividly the slash of red, Ronan’s hand, the gift from Gansey himself: all splattered with dark crimson and violence.

He thought of it now as he touched the pendant softly to ground himself; Ronan acted for all the world like he didn’t notice.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. So, there’s… someone you know, who’s warning you about how my life is in danger. Have you told Adam?” He finally dropped his hand and lifted his eyes. Ronan was three whole inches taller than him and never stopped lording it over him. 

Ronan blinked, sliding his gaze off into the hall, his jaw working minutely.

“We should,” Gansey pressed. “Adam knows about these sorts of things. Maybe not a lot, but more than us. He could help. And I trust him.”

“Course you do,” Ronan said, clipped, both mocking and yet not at all. Gansey wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but figured it didn’t matter. Ronan told him everything eventually, he always did, even if it took years. Gansey had become very adept at waiting.

“Don’t you? I would’ve thought—”

A sharp glare from Ronan cut off the rest of it. It took a long moment for him to answer, but he sighed harsh through his nose and said, “Yes. You know I do. But that doesn’t mean he’ll come with us. That he’ll… you know,” with a significantly pointed look, “dabble again. Even for you.”

“I’d feel better having him with us anyway.”

Ronan barked a too-loud laugh and aggressively pushed at Gansey’s hair. “Color me fucking shocked.”

Gansey smiled, shrugging—unashamed. The whole situation made him pause, uncertain where he often wasn’t. He thought, wildly, of Adam and Henry in the same room.

With everything unknown ahead of them, too many parts and pieces connected and tangled and also not at all. It was a delicate complexity he wasn’t sure how to resolve in a way that didn’t end up in war.

Or worse, broken hearts,

“This will be good,” Gansey said. “You know why I chose the summer retreat, yes?”

Ronan nodded, finally letting Gansey out of the protective enclave. “You think he’s there.”

“There’s an expansive cave system, out in the hills to the west. All our research is pointing there. Ronan, we could _find him._ _”_ It made his pulse pick up fast and dizzying just to think of it.

“Convenient, don’t you think?” Ronan had a strange look on his face, pensive and calculating. “All the bits and pieces, fitting together like this.”

“They ley lines can do that,” Gansey said. He’d nearly died on one line once, all those years ago. Or rather, had died, and then been revived. Spared. Maybe for this exactly purpose. To go back to the retreat where everything started, on the crossroads no one remembered; to find Glendower and wake him, to have his request considered if he was found worthy; to do something truly great, to prove that he was deserving of the station he was born into.

Ronan still looked suspicious, but that was just Ronan. He had a complicated relationship with trust and fate. In the sense that he didn’t trust fate and had good reasons for it.

“Trust me,” Gansey hedged. “We can do this. And I know we can because you’ll be there to make sure nothing happens. Not to me, not to the ley line, not to my kingdom.”

“Damn right,” Ronan said, chin mulish. The pinched skin between his eyebrows relaxed, the line of his shoulders pulling back tall, instead of rigid and coiled (Gansey hated when Ronan was primed like that, volatile and Other, like one of the wild creatures he used to tell excitable stories about, claiming they came out of his dreams.)

There were few things Ronan still believed in, and even fewer he trusted. Gansey had always been one of them.

“And if Henry tries anything, I’m taking his hands off.”

Gansey sputtered into laughter, reaching out to steady himself on Ronan’s arm. “We were _eight,_ Ro! It was a game, and rather chaste, if I recall.”

“We’re no longer eight,” Ronan warned. But the very edge of his mouth twisted in mirth.

Seventeen years later and it was finally no longer difficult to recall the first visit they’d had with the Chengs. It was no longer a farce to smile and laugh, to force cheer when everyone had been so tense, Ronan most of all.

It hadn’t been Ronan’s fault. No one could really blame Ronan for overreacting as a possessive child might, when Gansey had almost been lost to all of them mere months before.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_‘It should be me.’_

_‘But I would like to come. If I could explain to him—’_

_‘The only thing you’ll be explaining is that you’re his prince and you want something from him. He’ll be obligated to give it to you, and that’ll just upset everyone. Write your sonnet to the maggot. I won’t be long.’_

Now, walking the dark pathways to the stables alone, Ronan wondered if this really was the right way to go about approaching this. He’d never been accused of coming up with the most tactful approach, that was Gansey after all. But this… was fragile. A tenuously stacked thing that, with the slightest misstep, could come crashing down. When it came to Adam, Gansey was also rather adept at that.

Ronan refused to let that happen.

He had to pass through the barracks first to retrieve his pack, his set of throwing knives, and most importantly, his dream things. He had a set of rooms connected to Gansey’s to better protect him, but the Queen had a shrewder mind and thought it best to still have a place here, so he could keep one eye on the rest of the infantry.

He was devoted wholly to Gansey, but that didn’t mean the rest of the troops were.

In times like these, he wished he didn’t have to pass through at all.

Fires were lit, groups, both of men and boys pretending to be, clustered around them. They drank and talked and made bawdy comments. Ronan sneered, keeping his chin up and eyes forward. He had nothing to say to them.

They had plenty to say about him.

One man whistled, demeaning, while another snipped, “Where’s your handler? Let you off the leash, has he?”

Jeers and laughter followed.

Another, “For a wash out, it’s a wonder he’s let himself be collared.”

“Can’t believe the Prince would let his pet wander on his own,” a third slurred. “Doesn’t his bed get cold?”

A knife flicked out of Ronan’s sleeve and was flung lightning quick, sticking solid enough in the wall beside the speaker’s nose that it was heard in the abrupt silence.

No one spoke.

The fires popped and crackled.

Ronan glared, shoulder’s back, fists clenched in preparation to swing. “I would love a fight. Who wants to make my fucking day?” Each syllable came clear and slow, shaped like arrowheads.

Ronan never lied. By now, refusing to learn that meant a scar to remind those stupid enough to forget.

“No?” He snorted and kept on his way, ignoring the whispers that followed.

They liked to gossip; worse than the maids. At least the maids were useful.

  He already knew the things they’d say about him, had heard it all by this point. It had lost its poison. He’d proved himself time and time again, until no one could deny his abilities and their words had become simply pathetic.

Still, Ronan would much have it out with a brawl and be done with it. Every knew he’d been too predisposed to violence to be a knight proper as his status allowed. That suited him just fine.

Outside, Bea was tacked up and snorting impatiently. Ronan pulled himself up into the saddle and whistled sharply. Guillotine swooped down out of the darkness ( _’a demon in disguise, a dark familiar,’_ the townspeople often whispered,) and landed heavily on his outstretched wrist.

“Did you deliver my note?”

The raven croaked and pecked at his wrist, trilling when he turned his arm over to show her the bit of venison hidden in his fist. She plucked it out before taking to the skies once more.

 He clucked his tongue and drew his heel back, wheeling his mount around fast enough he bounded forward under his touch without hardly an order. Riding was Ronan’s favorite thing, finding little else better than feeling the power of his father’s horse coiled under him, trembling and matching his bone-deep thrumming for speed. It was too bad, his eldest brother often said, that he was also too unskilled and unmotivated with a bow to be a ranger, and equally as reckless to be trusted as one of the Riders.

He shook the echo from his head and sped across the courtyard, through the gates, and down into town.

 

Adam’s sad excuse for a house was beneath both what he deserved and what he could afford. He’d settled on the edges of the lower block, closer to the road into the forest than anything else.

Adam yanked open his door before Ronan had the chance to know. It wasn’t out of politeness, but rather the desire to interrupt the way Ronan liked to bang on the door as loud as humanly possible.

Ronan smirked, first still up and poised.

“Some warning,” Adam said. He stepped back to let Ronan in anyway.

“I sent a note.”

“It was two words, Ronan, it could’ve meant anything.”

Ronan laughed, making himself at home in Adam’s small front room. Adam had the forethought to rekindle the fire and Ronan sat in one of the chairs before it. “Least I sent word this time.”

Adam inclined his head, allowing him that. He flicked his gaze over Ronan and the inelegant sprawl that Ronan knew for fact appealed to him. 

Adam looked away, because their trip to the dark woods was behind them. He asked, “Couldn’t sleep? Because I was.”

“You were not,” Ronan said easily. He stretched his legs out, knocking the tip of his boot against a log in the fire and sending up sparks. He didn’t have to look at Adam to sense his impatience, but he wasn’t sure which angle he was supposed to take, which facet of the problem he was dealing with first.

He kicked the other chair out in invitation. “Sit. We’ve things to discuss.” He rubbed both hands over his face, a small admission of exhaustion he’d been ignoring for days and only ever allowed two people to see.

Adam stayed still and quiet, possibly not breathing.

“Please.”

Adam inhaled soft and fast all at once, and came over to sink into the chair. Ronan felt the heat of a hand hovering above his knee, before the action was thought better of. “There’s something wrong.”

“Generally.” The joke fell flat. “We’re traveling to the summer retreat in two days, for the summit. With Helen’s abdication Gans’ up for… for _everything._ That ruins some negotiations already in place, obviously. They’re meeting with the Cheng family.”

They shared a look, Adam painfully transparent in the things he wanted and had told himself he was never allowed. Ronan watched the wound in Adam open fresh in the knowledge that things might change with this upheaval.

Ronan let him think of it for a moment too long; a kindness or perhaps a cruel dangling. He hated he couldn’t stop there, that there were more immediate concerns. “And… Adam, someone’s got a hit on Gansey.”

Adam’s eyebrows flew up, his eyes flicking left and right quickly across the length of the room as they did when he was thinking _fast._ “That makes sense. He’s suddenly up first for the throne. That’s not… ideal, but not abnormal. Does Gansey know? Do the guards know?”

Ronan shook his head. And then scowled, chewing the leather cord around his wrist. “Gans does. Not the guards, yet. This isn’t about the throne. And my source isn’t exactly reliable in a court.”

“The thief,” Adam guessed.

“No,” Ronan snarled and made a rude gesture of warning. “Not that vermin.”

“Then who?”

Ronan said nothing.

“Ronan. If Gansey is in danger, we need to work quickly. I don’t care if it’s—”

“Czerny.”

Adam fell quiet. His eyes, when Ronan dare to meet them, were carefully blank, guarded against a dozen cruel things he wanted to say and half as many troubled memories. And then that wall broke.

 “Ronan Lynch, you absolute fool,” he hissed, and his empty eyes surged bright with anger and just the edge of glimmering power he usually kept locked up tight. Adam stood. “You idiot, what have I told you about—”

“He’s still _here,_ _”_ Ronan interrupted. “He’s not dangerous. He cares about Gansey. I trust him.”

“Anything with the shadow arts is never to be trusted.”

Ronan could understand why Adam was angry, after everything they went through before to purge Noah’s lingering spirit of dark persuasions. But this wasn’t the same. He just needed Adam to understand. “He’s an ally! How many times do I have to convince you of this?”

Adam lifted his shirt, expression stony, and twisted to show Ronan the parallel scars wrapping around his ribs, still raised and a warning even long healed.

“He was possessed, Adam, it wasn’t his fault. And you were too far into the astral, it was for everyone’s safety.”

“He _is_ a possession, Ronan, and I don’t like him around Gansey. They are deeply tied and who knows what wild thing he might do to try and switch their places.”

“Gansey doesn’t know.”

Adam stilled, eyes flickering. “What?”

“Gansey doesn’t know Noah is still around. I didn’t tell him. Because you wanted him gone, so I let Gansey think Noah passed on. Noah won’t manifest in front of him, he promised.”

Adam sat again, heavy like all the fight had run right out of him. “Well that’s… that’s something, I suppose.”

“Noah is being a proper ghost, and I’m not dabbling in anything to make him anything more. You know that’s not where my proclivities lay. What’s important is that Noah knows and warned me what’s coming. He knows who it is. His memory is still unreliable, but for now we know enough. They were blood brothers, back when it happened, when Noah was living.”

Adam scowled and sprung to his feet again. “That makes it worse. This is deeper than Gansey on the throne, this is… what? Blood brothers, a necromancer then? After Gansey for… for what, Ronan. To undo what has been done?”

Adam’s fretting and quick thoughts wore Ronan out. It made him antsy. He stood as well, pacing the length of the floor while Adam strategized with his own shadow. He strode to the window and back again, back, again. It had the added benefit of making Adam cranky, and an irritated Adam was one Ronan knew how to handle.

Something knocked at the closed window, quick and quiet.

Adam reached for the knife on the mantel, but Ronan waved a hand at him and let Guillotine in. He smoothed her ruffled feathers and tapped her beak gently when she nipped at him. She hopped to his other arm to reach Adam’s chair, perching on the back of it. Adam held his ground for a moment, but ultimately caved, reaching to tickle her neck and scratch the top of her head.

It made Ronan’s chest ache. He had to look away, the act too intimate for him to face. Guillotine was a part of him, more literally than most people understood. He’d pulled her out of his dreams—more, out of his soul, a dark little corner he couldn’t reach in his grief. He’d pulled her into a tangible shape he could nurture and love, and watching Adam interact with her was as if Adam was reaching into Ronan’s chest and running a tender finger along his heart and down into his ribs.

It hurt.

Guillotine ruffled, mirroring him as she often couldn’t help doing, and clacked her beak sharply at Adam’s fingers, pushing him away.

That hurt as well.

Adam only huffed a laugh, amused. Smiling faintly, he flicked his fingers back, before going to the counter to find her an offering of peace.

Somehow, the easy acceptance of her moodiness and sharp-edged affection hurt most of all.

Ronan thought of two springs ago, and the time they’d spent lost in the darkest parts of Cabeswater, surrounded by magic and nightmares and the druids who’d fought to keep Adam. Adam had chosen him instead. Had chosen Gansey and the kingdom, and the rest of it.

“Listen,” he said quietly, sitting again, “you can be mad at me later. But the truth is Noah is useful and he’s right. Gansey’s in danger, and I’m going to keep that bookworm safe.”

Adam paused again, sighing, but his shoulders came down. “And you want my help.”

“Course I do. You’re the only other person I know I can _trust_ with Gansey. We’re going to the summit. There will be a reduced guard, plus whoever the Cheng’s bring. Gans wants to find his king out there, and I believe he’s right this time.” Ronan sighed himself, feeling the weight of everything ahead of them and how it sat bulky on his shoulders, pressing him down.

He reached out for Guillotine, easing when she hopped over and pulled fussy at his ear. She tried to share the bit of vegetable Adam had given her.

“And now there’s this damned Necromancer. Are things never easy for us?”

Adam said nothing, but without looking Ronan could feel his damn eyes soften with something Ronan didn’t want.

“Noah says he’s trying to complete the ritual he’d started with him seventeen years ago. Gansey’s supposed to stand in for Noah, to wake up the ley line to its full power. He’ll be able to tap into it himself.”

“That would make him unstoppable.”

“Just about. That’s why we have to stop him. Please, Adam, will you come?” He looked up, twisting his hands between his knees, fingers hooking into his leather cords and pulling until they bit into his wrists enough to sting.

Adam’s concern visibly wared with suspicion. “Did his highness put you up to this?”

“No. But we discussed it briefly, that I’d feel better with you there. And he would like you to be there as well, threat aside, just as you are.” He tried to have it carry the weight it had when Gansey said it. “And to help with the search. The reward would be just as much yours as his.”

Adam scoffed, looking down. “And what would I be coming as?”

“Adam,” Ronan answered simply.

“What else.”

“A friend. A confident. A hostler.” Adam’s eyes rolled heavenward. “And a druid, should the need arise.”

“That’s what I thought,” Adam said, but it was softer than accusatory.

“Well?”

“I’ll think about it,” Adam said, which for him was as good as agreement. Ronan smiled. “I’ll send word tomorrow of my decision.”

“I shall wait with bated breath.” Ronan stood and swept into a low and ostentatious bow he was taught to use at court and on nobility, and thus never did. It made Adam laugh, though, and that was all Ronan thought it was good for.

 

Ronan crossed paths with the Thief and his pack on the way back through the streets. He wasn’t sure if he had meant to or not, but when it was dark and quiet like this, that part of night that oozed along like spilled ink, where magic was strongest, he tended not to think too hard about it. Tended not to think much at all.

They traded no words, only a scowl and a leer in turn. And then Ronan was urging Bea fast and hard, racing Kavinsky to the palace gates and heading him off sharply, denying him entry as he always did. It was a game they played. Or rather, a game Kavinsky started and Ronan finished.

Not like they used to; Kavinsky wasn’t allowed an inch anymore, or he’d take it as far as he could run, and Ronan would put Gansey through that again.

By the time Ronan had Bea tucked back into his stall and well cared for, and was back in the palace’s cold and protective walls, it was long past the witching hour and his blood was only just starting to cool from its boil. It was familiar and addictive. He had to be careful not to slip back down into it.

He headed down into the kitchens instead of up to his rooms. He couldn’t sleep right now, couldn’t even think of closing his eyes. He was too alive with energy, brain whirling endlessly with planning for what was to come. He hated planning. He missed the days where he only had to think of Gansey and training and Gansey’s adventures and his family and Gansey.

He wasn’t surprised to the find the kitchen nearly empty, and only slightly more still to find Marguerite still up and cleaning. He inclined his head to her in greeting and acknowledgment of the understanding they had. They often crossed paths like this.

She said nothing as she pulled out a bottle of something harder than the rich wine the Crown drank at dinner. The wine was always too sweet for him, especially when he was bristling like this; drinking it fast for the burn and the headiness rather than the taste.

He slipped her a gold coin, not because he had to or she was doing something illicit, but because it seemed right to pay her for excellent service, and showed it with a razor-sharp smile. She had long since stopped being intimated by it.

He took the bottle to one of the towers, climbing the stairs to the ramparts. He leaned against the wall and tilted his head up to the sky. The stars were always the same, and he remembered the stories his parents used to tell him about them.

“You’re angry,” a voice whispered, brushing across his ear like a cool breeze.

“Frustrated,” Ronan admitted. That was the thing about talking to ghosts: they held no judgment, and they were excellent secret keepers.

Very slowly he sensed the idea of weight and presence of another person beside him. Then an outline. Then the form of a boy who didn’t look old enough to match the ageless knowledge in his eyes, and the power he once held.

Except that wasn’t right, because Noah was older, much older, even if his boyish face was forever immortalized wane and delicate.

Ronan slid down the wall to sit. Noah followed suit, his clothing—two decades out of fashion but still showing their expense—rustling as he pulled his knees up and wrapped his cloak around himself. He was always cold, always leaning toward sources of heat and light and attention, hoping to regain even a scrap of what he’d lost. Sometimes Ronan let Noah sit close to him, let him leech away his warmth if only so Ronan could stop feeling it.

Ronan wasn’t quite drunk enough to do that tonight, not yet, not without his chest aching.

Noah had spent seventeen years being cold, there was nothing Ronan could do to put a dent in making that up.

“Frustrated,” Noah prompted.

“Right,” Ronan muttered, as if he had the good fortune to forget. He took another swig from the bottle, breathing purposefully slow through his nose. “All the pieces are in place, and I still feel unprepared.”

“At the summit.”

Ronan nodded. He threw a glance at Noah, examining his bright eyes, sharp nose, and crushed cheek like he had hundreds of times before. Noah looked better in the moonlight, at least; more ethereal and like a spirit. In the shadows of the castle Noah just looked… necrotic. More and more as the years passed. “You’re coming?”

Noah looked down at his hands, nodding uncertainly. “I think I have to.”

“Because of Gansey?”

Noah looked up at him again, eyes empty and mouth pursed complicated. Repeated, “I think I have to go,” which meant it wasn’t the same thing at all.

Fear squeezed Ronan’s lungs. He offered over the bottle and Noah took it, though he didn’t lift it for a drink, just held it between his hands, between his knees, staring down into the narrow neck.

“Have you found him?” Noah whispered.

Ronan took the bottle back, trading Noah for his own riding gloves. Noah immediately twisted them in his grip, sliding them on and off, antsy. “Of a sort. I have reports of his movements, and where he gets his information. We’re hoping to draw him out into the open at the retreat.”

“You told Gansey.”

“Part of it,” Ronan said. Noah tilted his head and half-smiled as if to say, _of course you did._ “The part that mattered. Told Adam all of it.”

“He wasn’t happy.”

Talking to Noah was at once a relief and also irritating. Noah knew too much and often made statements more than asked question. Sometimes it was like speaking with a mirror, and others like… well, like someone who had died seventeen years ago and knew nothing.

“No,” Ronan answered. “Not at all. He doesn’t have to be. He’ll still help.”

“Good. That’s good. That’s…” but Noah just nodded to himself as he looked up at the sky, lost in thought immediately.

Ronan reached over—hesitated, hand shaking where it hovered—and gripped Noah’s hand tightly, demanding that Noah be corporeal enough to let him do it. “I’m not letting him touch you. I’ll kill him,” he promised. “I’m taking him down before he touches a thread on Gansey, and I’ll let him know exactly who it’s for.”

Noah didn’t look at him, but he twisted his hand to hold Ronan’s back. For the moment he could, and that was all that mattered. “I am also frustrated,” he said, slow and measured, just enough like a question but not one entirely. Ronan wasn’t sure if he was having a hard time coming up with the words, speaking them, or something worse.

Ronan tightened his grip until his knuckles were as white as Noah’s, leaning into his shoulder as if that was supposed to help anyone.

Noah continued, “There’s nothing I can do. To help or stop him. I can’t even reach out to Gansey.” He flexed his fingers within Ronan’s, but didn’t fight to reclaim them, more miming a gesture only he thought of, forgetting where he was. “I can only watch, and tell you what I see.”

“And scare all the staff,” Ronan added, the joke falling flat.

Noah’s face scrunched and contorted into a pout that didn’t quite look like he should be able to pull off, but did anyway. He looked a bit like a puppy, but also something that might show up in a nightmare without being directly dangerous. “They can’t see me as you do. I was only trying to help, with the cleaning and the tidying up.”

“You’re a terrible maid,” Ronan said dryly. “Stop trying to help.”

“I get bored.”

“You’re better suited spying for me.”

“True,” Noah said. He sighed, somehow both the exaggerated movement of his shoulders and the soft sound of it like dust displaced from creaking floorboards.

Ronan took another drink, tipping his head back to the stars as he swallowed. He wondered what his father would think, him grown and still hiding amongst the stars, drowning in drink, ghosts for company. He wondered if his father would see him as the hollow shell he sometimes felt he was, if it was his father’s death that had gutted out, or if he’d always been destined to be Less, filling himself with  love and devotion to his little brother and his Gansey and the violence and fantastical things he dreamed, until he didn’t need to be a whole person on his own.

“You should stop wondering about him,” Noah whispered. He sounded fainter, far away, but his hand was still solid in Ronan’s when he squeezed. “There’s no way to tell, now.”

Ronan shut his eyes tightly against the stinging heat, and scowled so he didn’t make any other sort of face.

“You can blame him,” Noah said. Wry, and a little sour. “I won’t tell.”

For a moment, Ronan hated Noah.

But really, it wasn’t Noah that he hated. It wasn’t even his father, when pressed.

 

~*~

 

Ronan had gotten too little sleep to be in any sort of good mood the next morning, but that’d never stopped Gansey. He was bright and cheery, and ready to take on the world. The only thing Ronan wanted to take on was maybe that chocolate drink Gansey had gotten for his last birthday, and a nap.

They didn’t have time for either.

Gansey was up, through breakfast, and saddling his own horse faster than the attendants could jump up to do it for him.

Ronan squinted in the bright sun and yawned, leaning on the pommel of his saddle. It had once been shiny black leather, but was down to a dusty grey from hard use. “Isn’t the point,” he began flatly, “of writing an invitation to someone, is not having to see their face.”

It wasn’t so much a question, as an accusation.

“Traditionally,” Gansey said. He pulled himself up into his saddle, patting Pig’s neck. A strawberry ear flicked back at him. “But it’s a nice day and I want her answer as soon as possible. And I can’t sit inside all day pouring over anymore past treaties. My eyes will go cross-eyed and get stuck, and then no one will ever take me seriously as king.”

Ronan snorted. “You know your nanny only ever said that because you were annoying her, right?”

Gansey blinked at him.

Ronan, gods help him, couldn’t actually tell if Gansey was shocked by this or not. He refused to ask. He couldn’t. He didn’t need to know if Gansey, for all his intelligence and hunger for knowledge, was that _gullible._

“Let’s just get this over with,” Ronan said instead. He nudged his heels into Bea’s sides and felt his heart lurch in time with how Bea leapt forward. He wasn’t surprised that it took Gansey a minute to catch up, either because they liked to go fast, or that Pig wasn’t feeling very agreeable this morning.

He couldn’t ever figure why Gansey kept that horse.

Blue Sargent, the last piece to their oddly-matched puzzle, lived in a cottage that was had countless things odd and mysterious about it. But the main two were that it was only a cottage in aesthetic really, and that it was situated at the end of an old fox trail.

The first was the cottage was three stories from the outside, but at least five when entered, and more rooms than could feasibly exist and so tended to vanish and appear based on need. There also seemed to be roughly three hundred women—distantly and vaguely related—living in it at any given time.

The second was a fact taken at face value, as foxes themselves or any other small creatures, had not used the trail in years. Maybe as many years since Blue’s family had moved in. Or maybe the house had always been there. No one could come to an agreement on that. That was partially why the townsfolk referred to them as The Fox Women. The other part had something to do with their cunning nature, clever eyes, and various charms and wiles.

Calla was as vitriolic as a badger, and yet still managed to get anything she wanted, so a fox she stayed.

Ronan knew Gansey liked the house and all the talented women in it because it was another piece of tangible proof that their world was full of magic and it was there for anyone to take.

The fox trail snaked through the darkest part of the wood, and pushed them out into an impossibly sunny glade stuffed with trees and plants and flowers and unfamiliar buzzing insects. The house, as always, seemed a flurry of activity, even from the outside.

Gansey dismounted at the front gate; Ronan didn’t.

The front door swung inward and out from under Gansey’s hovering fist, about to knock on Blue’s skull.

She ducked under the hand that would never dare to hit her, heavy bag slung over one shoulder. “Yes, of course I’m coming with you.” She half-turned and pushed at someone out of sight.

Ronan had an inkling of who it was. He dismounted and came up the cobblestone path, hand resting comfortably on his sword.

“Oh, lovely!” Gansey said. “And efficient. Let me take your bag.”

Blue didn’t even dignify that with an answer, just hitched it higher.

“Thought you weren’t psychic,” Ronan said.

“I’m not. But no less than three aunts have been harping me all morning to pack. I was going to receive an invitation? They wouldn’t tell me what sort.”

Gansey looked both delighted and dismayed. He held out the letter, tucked safely in a thick envelope and sealed in rich blue wax. “You could at last read it. I went to a great deal of effort writing it.”

As a prince to an oracle’s daughter, it should’ve been authoritative. Instead he just sounded plaintive.

“That was your choice,” Blue said. She took the envelope anyway, tearing it open.

A much-bigger hand wrapped around the edge of the door and its owner came into view. He didn’t look pleased to see them, but then, Ronan wasn’t sure they’d ever seen Mr. Grey pleased about anything.

“Mr. Grey,” Gansey said, ducking his head only slightly. A show of respect Gansey didn’t owe him, but felt better giving anyway. That’s just how he was. He’d make a good king, and Ronan would make sure he’d become one.

“Your highness.” Mr. Grey looked between them, and then loomed over Blue’s shoulder to read along. “Maura tells me this venture of yours will be dangerous.” It was said without inflection, and yet was threatening all the same. He was very good at that, and privately Ronan wished he could learn it.

Gansey said nothing for a long moment, visibly chewing over his words. Ronan didn’t speak for him. He knew the journey would be dangerous, he wasn’t thinking about that—it was just a fact of their life—but he’d let Gansey decide how much they were saying about it, just yet, and to who.

“To a degree,” Gansey admitted slowly.

Blue’s eyes jumped up from the page.

“Changing alliances always is.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Mr. Grey somehow took up the rest of the door frame. If Blue was uncomfortable about the presence of him at her back, it was unlikely. Ronan wasn’t sure how long he’d been part of their life, but as long as they’d known her, and even a mercenary was someone one could grow accustomed to.

“My life, as it were, is on the line,” Gansey said. It seemed to take something out of him to say aloud.

Ronan shifted, just to draw Mr. Grey’s attention. Gansey didn’t need his reproach on top of the alarmed look in Blue’s eyes.

Blue surged forward to punch Gansey’s shoulder. “What have you done now?” 

Gansey flinched, hands up. “Nothing!”

“They’ll have to kill me first,” Ronan said, low. It quieted the other two. He met Mr. Grey’s gaze straight on. It was easy to promise; he had nothing if he didn’t have Gansey.

“They will,” Mr. Grey said. “But let us hope that time isn’t this time.”

Ronan nodded.

“Here.” Mr. Grey put a hand on Blue’s shoulder and turned her, with more familiarity than they’d seen Blue allow from anyone who wasn’t her mother. He handed her a small leather pouch. “From your mother and Calla.” And then he presented a wicked looking dagger, curved and gleaming. He slid it safely in a sheath decorated in unfamiliar scroll work that was tarnished in some spots. “From me. She’s fast, like you. Very few will be able to get the drop on you like this.”

Blue gasped in delight, fingers striking out in a blur to relieve him of the blade.

Ronan rolled his eyes. She was so _spoiled_ by him.

Blue tucked both gifts into her bag, Gansey’s letter in her coat pocket, and farewells back into the house. She hopped out from under the door frame and Mr. Grey’s watchful eye, and Gansey hurried to follow her around the side of the house to the stables.

Mr. Grey dropped a heavy hand on Ronan’s shoulder as he went to follow them through the garden. “You think you’re invincible, but you aren’t. And you have less to lose. It would do you well to remember that.”

Ronan yanked his shoulder out from under Mr. Grey’s grasp. “Right, and if I don’t bring her back safe, you’ll kill me?”

“Of course.”

It was so certain, so serenely matter of fact, that it took Ronan aback. Not because he didn’t believe it, but he’d expected a taunting retort about how Maura would get to him first, or maybe Mr. Grey would take his time making Ronan beg before he was finished with him.

This wasn’t a tease. This wasn’t a bid to be safe while they went adventuring on the borders of the kingdom.

This was a promise as solid as steel, as true as life. This was a mercenary, speaking to a bodyguard he deemed unfit.

All there was to do was nod agreeably, so Ronan did, keeping choice words tucked behind his teeth before they could get him in trouble.

He wondered what the fox women had divined about their impending journey, and why they had told Mr. Grey but not found it pertinent to warn Blue.

By the time he caught up with Gansey and Blue, her pony was saddled and all ready to go.

Gansey reached to pet it, and the pony took a snap at his hand.

Ronan roared with laughter, and didn’t stop until Gansey threw a pine cone at him. 

Blue’s pony was small, ( _just like you, maggot,_ Ronan often said,) but was mountain bred and kept pace with them tirelessly. She asked, “Gansey said Adam was coming?”

“Yes,” Ronan said.

Gansey threw him a _look_ that Ronan pretended not to see. “He said he’d consider it. He promised to send word.”

“It’ll be there when we get back to the castle,” Ronan said.

Blue nodded, looking pleased. “Good. Mom said we’d need him. And Persephone liked that we’d have him along.” She glanced at Gansey out of the corner of her eye, sly enough that Ronan only caught it because he was waiting for it. “And Prince Henry. This is about you two.”

“It’s about many things,” Gansey said, but it wasn’t a _no._ He sighed, for the first time today letting down his guard to appear _tired._ Maybe Gansey hadn’t slept as well as Ronan had assumed. “Hopefully I can mend whatever damage and distrust has been done with the Chengs. Whatever Prince Henry and I have—had— _have_ is the least of our worries.”

Blue straightened a little, throwing a considering look to Ronan, who was surprised to find himself returning it. It was not the answer either of them had been expecting.

Ronan had that odd and terrifying feeling he sometimes got: that Gansey was moving towards a person he didn’t know, and away from the Gansey he thought he’d always have.

It was a very grown up answer, in the way that it was filled with a worry that belonged to older, more responsibility-ridden shoulders than theirs were ever supposed to be. Worry for an abstract, a people at large, that had little room for Gansey himself.

It was the answer of a king-to-be.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Gansey straightened his collar for the third time in as many minutes. His form and clothes were impeccable, and yet there was an edge of nerves flitting around his edges. He felt unbalanced; distinctly unsettled in a very small way that was hard to pinpoint. Maybe he was still being haunted after all.

“You look fine, Dick,” Ronan said, a mockery gentled in the presence of the Royal Family in its entirety. He lounged on the wide railing that bracketed the towering front doors, leaning back against the stone dragon that sat watching as if a sentinel. He ate an apple with one of his short knives, the shining image of nonchalance.

But Gansey could see where he was bristling in his shoulders.

Ronan didn’t like Henry. Ronan didn’t like anyone, really, but that was beside the point. He liked Adam, and that’s where a lot of the problem was.

Gansey breathed, focusing on the meditating techniques he’d learned abroad, slowing his heartbeat and quieting his thoughts. It only sort of worked. He admired the full trees lining the winding road, instead. The front garden was in full bloom, shrubbery lush and the flowers thick and bright. The rose bushes climbed along the stone of the outer wall, sagging under the weight of its own blossoms.

The whole picture made for an idyllic retreat. He hoped the Chengs would find it charming, at least.

Bells in the distance rang sweetly, heralding the arrival of a carriage long before the horses rounded the bend.

Gansey inhaled—exhaled just as quick. He slammed a professional front on and straightened his shoulders. Even more than they already had been, if possible. There was a lot more riding on these shoulders than last time; more he had to balance and navigate than the last time when they’d just been children and only had to worry about getting along.

The last time had been when they were fifteen, the height of their spring, and their visit had been tentative and charged at once. They’d filled their days with sports and studies and delightfully grown up brunches out in the sunshine and little supervision. He’d spent entire days riding out to the farthest corners of their lands, showing Henry how far the kingdom went, and along the way little nooks that held secrets and beauty.

They’d left a few of their own secrets there.

The largest of them being a kiss.

Or maybe the largest had been Gansey baring the little pinprick scars that had once stopped his heart.

Maybe larger still, Henry’s fear of small, dark spaces born of a hostage situation—Gansey had blustered and hurried to push Henry back out into the open, apologies spilling from his lips almost faster than he could form them.

He wondered if Henry remembered any of that.

Gansey glanced back at Ronan habitually, taking strength in his steady and uncaring presence. His impertinence was a familiar comfort allowed in polite company because Gansey clung to it.

Ronan arched an eyebrow back. His display with the knife was far less casual than moments before, more a show that it was out and he was ready. Gansey felt stupid for assuming anything about Ronan wasn’t a calculated performance.

He exhaled.

Smiled.

Ronan nodded.

Gansey looked forward again as the carriage came to a stop, and gave that smile to the Chengs. He descended the stairs to offer a short bow and his hand to Seondeok.

“Welcome. I do hope your trip was a comfortable one.”

“Very,” Seondeok said. She took his hand, grip like iron, and stepped down out of the carriage. She didn’t dismiss him so much as see Astrid Gansey and thaw as she swept forward in a whirl of swirling fabrics. She reached with both hands for Astrid’s, leaning in to allow the kiss to her cheek.

Gansey watched for half a moment, caught Helen raising her eyes meaningfully, and jumped to turn back and offer a similarly supporting hand to Henry. Henry, in contrast to his mother, was grinning widely, eyes bright and hair styled high. His hand was warm where it curled around his, skin soft and grip tight only for the excitement showing clear on his face. 

“Hello,” Gansey said.

“Gansey boy!” Henry hopped down out of the carriage, using Gansey’s hand first for stability and then as leverage to pull him into a hug.

Gansey’s lungs did that thing again, where he’d forgotten to breathe because something was just _so much._ Henry was so much, so alive and brimming with energy it seemed to fight to escape his skin.

It was infectious—how had Gansey forgotten—and his stiff shoulders melted as he embraced Henry in return.

He was trim, slight as he’d always been, but still solid in Gansey’s arms. Something too large and heady rose like a sleeping titan in Gansey’s chest, turned over, and settled once more.

Henry pulled back all at once, eyes dancing, and pushed and pulled on Gansey’s hands in turn. “Come now, spin for me, let me get a good look at how fit all this adventuring has made you.”

Gansey didn’t have time to worry about the flush no doubt creeping over his face. He was prodded to turn slowly, cracking his neck as he strained to continue looking at Henry in turn. Henry looked good, his clothes fitted and flaring in flattering turn, sleeves falling wide around their clasped hands. Henry wore fashion-forward clothing so comfortably and like it’d been designed for him (it likely was) that Gansey was instantly filled with admiration and envy.

Rustling and a high-pitched whining shook Gansey’s attention, urging him to turn for the sound

A loud buzz reached his ears.

He froze, terror rippling over his arms like something liquid and viscous.

Air whistled past his ear, solidifying into a knife that _thunked_ into the door of the open carriage. The blade pinned a large bee by its wing.

Gansey stumbled back, pulling Henry with him, but Henry fought his hold.

“Hey!” Henry shouted. “My bee! What have you done?”

“You have a—a bee?” Gansey asked, breathless and throat tight in phantom reaction, a half-second before Ronan yelled, “Get it away from him!”

Ronan was at Gansey’s side in an instant, pulling him back behind himself. Gansey went willingly.

Henry yanked Ronan’s knife out of the door, other hand cupped to catch the bee, clucking his tongue. It was larger than most garden varieties and, now that Gansey could get a good look at it against Henry’s skin, saw it glittering strangely against the light.

“It’s… it’s not real,” he guessed. He didn’t realize he was breathing again, too fast now and shallow, until his vision spun and his throat burned. He reached to twist a hand into the back of Ronan’s sleeveless tunic, steadying and grounding, trying to match his inhales to Ronan’s steady rise and fall of his back.

“Of course not,” Henry said. He’d be right to be angry, but instead just sounded distressed.

Ronan strode forward, hand back to keep Gansey from following, and ripped the knife from Henry’s hand. “Keep it away from him. He’s allergic. How dare you bring that here.”

“It’s not a real one,” Henry argued. “I wouldn’t do that; I know how he gets.”

“Clearly not if you’ve brought something of one, you idiot!”

Guards shuffled forward around them, weapons not drawn but ready.

Gansey waved them off. He could do that at least. Their parents watched without intervening, likely to see how Gansey handled this all himself. All eyes were on him (Helen’s hand rested on her own sword, and Gansey found the gesture sweet.) He had to… he had to manage this. He had to step up and be the king they were expecting from him.

He cleared his throat and stepped up beside Ronan, hand on his shoulder to quell him (to steady himself, drawing strength from the solid, sharp arch of Ronan’s shoulder.) His mouth, pressed tight, wavered, for a moment distracted by the infinitesimal flicker of movement along the back of Ronan’s shoulder. A flashing peek of black at the edge of his tunic sleeve-hole. It slithered out from under his watch, either a thorn to attack or a pointed vine to bar harm to Gansey. 

He swallowed and put it out of his mind; this happened sometimes, he told people it was a trick his tired eyes played on him. He cleared his throat and said, “Quiet, Ronan, I’m fine. There’s no harm here.” He barely kept his voice from shaking. “Is it—you said it’s artificial? A spell?”

“Realer than that, but not flesh,” Henry said. He thrust his hand out to show.

Gansey flinched.

Henry faltered, his hand dipping fractionally and expression wilting.

It panged something in Gansey’s chest—it wasn’t Henry’s fault, he wasn’t being malicious. He made himself lean forward to examine it, heart pounding.

It was made of metal, maybe, but Gansey had never seen it worked so finely. Every part of it was intricate and delicate, to the degree that he would need a special sort of glass to see all of it.

“You made this?” Gansey asked, impressed despite himself. “Or one of your magicians?”

Henry shook his head, and Gansey found himself embarrassingly distracted and awed by how Henry’s hair didn’t stir with the movement. “Not this exact one.”

Ronan wavered under Gansey’s hand, face turning an alarming pallid shade.

This one was a gift from the Lynch family.” Henry gestured to Ronan. “Surprised you didn’t recognize him, and your father’s work. But we’ve replicated a few of them. They’re wonderful little creatures.”

“Keep it away from Gansey,” Ronan repeated gruffly.

Gansey sighed. He feared looking back to see the reactions of his parents, even if he thought he heard Orla snickering. So he didn’t look. He simply bowed gain and held out a hand to Henry. “I’m so sorry about that… kerscuffle. Really. He meant no offense. Can you fix it?”

Henry waved a hand, face breaking into another sunny smile, even if it peaked out from behind clouds. “He was only trying to protect you, I can’t fault him for that, now can I? The wing is replaceable.” He placed the bee carefully into a previously unseen pocket that seemed to vanish as soon as closed. He took Gansey’s hand.

Gansey relaxed—he needed a nap, or maybe an hour with a soft block of wood to carve, carving away his muddled thoughts—but there was still a whole day ahead of them. “Good. That’s good. Would you like a tour of the grounds? We have a wonderful library, as well. And the southern courtyard gets beautiful afternoon sun.”

“I would love that,” Henry said.

They excused themselves from their parents and guards, but Ronan stayed close on their heels. Gansey felt better for it.

What a disastrous start.

He hoped it wasn’t an omen for what was to come.

 

~*~

 

Gansey took Henry around the close and comfortable halls of the smaller castle, and really, it was more of a manor. Humbler, cozier, than the large capital castle that was for prestige and appearances as much as living. This estate was for relaxing and enjoyment. The halls and rooms were warmed by thick rugs and beautiful tapestries; the morning sun streamed through the windows and warmed the stone.

He showed Henry the dining hall and the parlor they’d hold most of their discussions in, and then the library—his favorite—saved for last.

Adam and Blue were already there, wearing twin expressions of uncertainty and distrust.

Henry’s eyes lit up in interest, looking them both over and smiling at the scowl Blue sent his way, even as she bent over a map spread before Adam.

“Oh, hello. Excuse us. I didn’t realize we’d have company,” Henry said.

“Yes, these are my closest friends,” Gansey said, sweeping out a hand to motion to them. “Adam Parrish and Blue Sargent. I’ve invited them to join us on the, let’s say _lighter_ aspects of this trip. I did not want our stay to be all business.”

Henry’s eyebrows leaped high, his eyes twinkling. “Ah, so they’re here for pleasure then.”

Gansey blushed badly, flicking a guilty look at the table and, yes, both Adam and Blue were glaring. Adam’s expression had gone dark and flat, while Blue’s hand was at her hip, where a knife was no doubt concealed.

This was horrible. Awful. What a terrible idea this all had been.

“Of a sort,” he managed, strained. “I suppose. But not… not that kind. They are my guests, just as you are, so I insist you treat them with the utmost respect. Please.”

“Of course.” Henry bowed deeply, but neither seemed assuaged. Gansey would not ask them to be. He barely fought the urge to cover his face with his hands.

“Well, I think he’s awful,” Blue said of Henry, pointedly. She pinned Gansey with a look as if she expected him to do something about it, maybe banish him. “Why’d we invite him again?”

Gansey, embarrassingly, made a strangled noise in his throat—Ronan was _snickering_ behind him, he could feel it, despite his poor attempts to muffle it. Gansey looked to Adam, hoping he could calm Blue, but Adam only looked back him, eyes steely. They overflowed with judgment, but Gansey couldn’t figure out where it was directed. Himself, statistically.

“I am… so sorry,” Gansey said to Adam and Blue, hands out beseeching. But really he was looking at Adam, trying to convince him of something he couldn’t put into words. “Please, may we join you?”

Blue snorted and tossed a hand up neither allowing it nor refusing him.

He was her prince, but she was going to be married into the family by proxy and she’d taken to it wonderfully well. He found it refreshing, at its base.

Gansey pulled out a seat for Henry, and then took one next to him, across from Blue and Adam, and said nothing of Ronan dragging out the chair beside him to sit perched on the back of it, boots planted in the seat. Ronan had often said it was to have a better view of the area and threats, but Gansey wondered if he was more like his pet raven than he’d admit.

He looked around at his assembled companions of choice, how they all looked back at him, waiting for him to… what? Speak? Direct them? They looked at him as a leader, not necessarily their king-to-be, but something more intimate; sensing perhaps he’d assembled them for a reason.

He had.

“May I speak plainly?” he asked Henry.

“Gods, I wish you would,” Blue said, with no lacking level of exasperation.

He shot her a flicker of a smile. He was glad he’d convinced her to come along.

Henry clapped his shoulder (Ronan twitched beside him,) and nodded. “Of course. We’re here to discuss the betrothal—”

Across the table Adam shifted, suddenly looking tense. Gansey wished badly to reach out and sooth him.

“Not that,” Gansey interrupted. “It would be… improper to discuss that now, here, without our families and council.”

Henry tilted his head, glancing back at the table and the map and the notes in various handwriting. “This is something else, then? Pertaining to your adventures.”

Gansey nodded.

Henry’s eyes flashed again, excited and intrigued. He had a lot of energy, his mind seeming to work beautifully quick, jumping from thought to thought. Gansey had forgotten how charmed he was by it.

“What do you know about dead welsh kings?”

“Not much,” Henry admitted. He looked down at the map covered in Gansey’s quick and cramped scrawl, at the journal open and taken apart to cover the rest of the table. “Seems you know enough for all of us.”

Gansey smiled. “It’s my quest, as I mentioned in our correspondence.” He explained what he’d gathered already, walking Henry through their research and travels and what they’d found, spoke briefly about the myth of the wish granted, the myth of Glendower himself.

The light had grown brighter, sun high in the windows by the time he’d finished.

“I’d hoped to find him before I was asked to be anything more than a prince. To prove myself, as every noble has before me. But.” He faltered, hesitant to speak quite so plainly when it came to this. “Everything with Helen has sped things up exponentially. I am to be training for the throne soon. I’m running out of time.”

Henry looked over the spread map and papers again, thoughts visibly connecting. “He’s here.”

Blue looked up sharply.

“Yes,” and Gansey couldn’t help how it came out on little more than a sigh. Couldn’t deny the warmth that unspooled around his ribs. Henry was whip-sharp, and Gansey was glad to have him here. “In these hills, somewhere. I’m sure of it.”

A cloud passed over Henry’s sunny expression, but he nodded and looked back to the maps, hand out to trace a gentle finger along paths drawn in ink. “I admit, I’m gladder now to have come. This is fascinating. And I’ve always wanted the excuse to spend more time with you.” He reached to Gansey’s hand, careful but bold.

Gansey felt his face flush again. “O-oh.”

“If I might be so forward.”

Adam stood at once, mouth thinned and flat. “I should check the horses. I expect you’ll want to go riding later, your highness?” It wasn’t really a question. Gansey would; Adam was leaving regardless the excuse.

“Oh, but Adam, you don’t actually have to.”

Somehow that made Adam angrier, shoulders hunched and fists tight at his side. His eyes were cast down, and Gansey hated when he held himself as such. “Right, that’s just what you told their Majesties, for me to accompany you.” 

Ronan cursed, running a hand over his recently shorn head. “I’ll go with you; I need something to eat.” He jumped off the chair and straightened his sword belt. He pushed at Gansey’s head. “Think you can manage not to get murdered for an hour?”

Gansey smiled wryly. “I should hope so.”

He waited until the two had left, before letting the smile drop and looking at Blue beseechingly. “I’ve upset him. I don’t know how, but I’ve upset him greatly.”

“You’re an imbecile,” she told him, as if that explained anything. She might be right, but that still didn’t help him fix it.

Henry looked between the two of them, and then the door, puzzled. “I don’t understand. He’s just… what did he say, the hostler?”

“Oh good, two idiot princes,” Blue said.

Henry glanced at her, mouth twisting amused but insulted as well. “That’s very bold of you.”

Thankfully, Blue raised an imperious eyebrow instead of fly into a rage, as she was often prone to. “You may be royalty, but you’re not my prince, and my cousin is the one marrying Princess Helen. So I don’t have to even treat him all that nice, let alone you.”

“It’s true,” Gansey said. It wasn’t. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Henry leaned his cheek on one hand, etiquette the only thing keeping him from rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s something, I suppose. You certainly keep interesting company, Third.”

“Thank you.”

“So, when are we looking for this king of yours?”

Gansey smiled, all thoughts of upset neatly wiped from his thoughts. “Tomorrow. We can tell their majesties we’re touring the estate, which, we are.”

“They might insist on a guard,” Blue pointed out. “Not just Ronan. Don’t think they’re going to let us disappear into some caves for a couple hours without a fuss.”

“Yes, that would be a problem, wouldn’t it,” Gansey muttered, tapping his pencil on the map and then against his own lips. He glanced up to find Henry watching the motion, and offered him the pencil to use.

Henry’s eyebrows furrowed, but ultimately shook his head as he laughed.

Blue groaned, throwing a hand up, gesturing at them as if to demonstrate something to the heavens. Gansey didn’t see what was worth that level of dramatics, but Blue was a strange and fanciful creature he’d stopped questioning long ago.

“I’ll figure it out,” he promised Henry. “We’ll go, the five of us, and see what we can dig up.”

“How romantic,” Henry said.

Gansey thought Henry meant it in the literary sense, and liked him a lot more for it. It’d been years since they’d last visited, and longer still since they’d promised to each other. Gansey had questioned the union over and over. Now, together, with Henry’s interest and the ease in which they fell together, the exciting spark of something new, Gansey didn’t have to try very hard at all to imagine what it could be like.

He turned his half-smile to Blue, expecting her expression to mirror his.

What met him was a glare fueled by fire rising in her already dark eyes.

As if she had a direct line into his brain, he thought suddenly of Adam.

He felt the guilt rise up to choke him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Adam didn’t want to eat with the rest of the court (however reduced it was; however rude the choice might be seen as.)

So Ronan stood with Adam unhelpfully as he charmed the cook’s assistant and secured for them a miniature spread to eat in a corner of the kitchen, relatively out from underfoot. At least it made Adam more at ease, always showing most comfortable when hidden away or out of public eye.

Adam, for all his talents and mysterious abilities, flourished where no one was looking. Like a moon lily.

Ronan considered it a complete waste.

He wasn’t about to tell Adam that. It wasn’t his business, nor did he really care. Adam did just fine for himself, and offering him any more than he desired to take for himself often ended in a fight. Sometimes a physical one, and as much as Ronan enjoyed tussling with him, Adam was always cross and quick-tempered afterword.

Ronan would rather fold his edges, elbows, and general prickled-self in until he fit in a cramped spot on a bench by the main ovens. He picked at his lunch, more of it ending up tossed at Adam than eaten.

Finally, after the tension had been warmed out of Adam’s chilly shoulders, Ronan asked, “What do you think of Gansey’s evidence?” He didn’t particularly want to talk, but he didn’t want Adam to be silent any longer, either. A silent Adam was a dangerous Adam; lost in his own thoughts and spiraling down a dark tunnel Ronan couldn’t follow.

“It’s sound,” Adam said decisively. He nibbled at his food, as if still having to savor it, as if still expecting to wake up one day with nothing. “I don’t doubt after all this time he’s narrowed it down. And with the ley lines arching as they do, it makes sense they converge here.” 

Ronan didn’t argue. A lot of things had happened on this land, on these invisible lines, over the years. Ronan thought of the summer Gansey almost died; the shadow in Adam’s eyes showed he was thinking of the Dark Wood to the west, and the journey the two of them taken through it—not as long ago as Gansey but long enough.

And then there was Noah.

Three moments, three boys struck by magic and tragedy, three hits portioned out over three lines.

And they all three lead here.

“However,” Adam continued, pulling Ronan out of his thoughts, reeling him back in to the present and up the winding thread that had carried him away. “I don’t see He—Prince Cheng’s involvement necessary. In fact, it might jeopardize the whole thing.”

“You just think that.”

“I think it because it’s true.”

Ronan thought about addressing the titan that lumbered around them all: large and terrifying and yet unacknowledged. His desire to speak plainly warred with his distaste for speaking at all.

It wasn’t his problem.

Except, Gansey was always going to be his problem.

“We’re going to find him.”

“Gansey’s going to wake him,” Adam agreed, except it wasn’t the same thing at all.

When Ronan had said it, he was much more concerned with one king over the other, and it wasn’t the one

He inhaled, held it, and thought so audibly even Ronan waited. “Do you know what he’s going to ask for?”

“Yes.” 

Adam looked at him, searching his face for the answer.

Ronan would not give it. It wasn’t his to give, and what was more, it wouldn’t do either of them any good.

Adam’s expression crumpled. Just enough. Just enough in this dark corner for Ronan alone to see. He didn’t think anyone had seen that expression on Adam in a very long time.

“He’s going to marry Henry, isn’t he.”

“He was always going to.”

That was a lie and they both knew it. Or rather, an untruth, a lie of omission. They _didn_ _’t_ know, it wasn’t certain, it had been the plan but never the certain future.

“They both have kingdoms to run,” Ronan said, neither here nor there on the subject. “I doubt he can, now.”

“But he wants to.”

“Gansey wants many things,” Ronan corrected, “and is cheerfully obstinate in his insistence he can have all of it.”

Adam snorted, but his mouth quivered in good humor. “He’s so entitled.”

“Someone might think that, yes.” Ronan held his gaze. He did not say that someone would mostly be wrong. Absolutes were a tricky business to work in.

Adam glanced down, conceding him a point he’d never admit aloud.

That was how most of their conversations went these days: riddles and half-truths threaded with sentences not spoken in words, and looks that counted for twice as much. They would make wonderful spies if it weren’t for Ronan’s impatience, Adam’s pride, and their combined ability for brutality.

“Well. In any case, it’s not for us to concern ourselves with the affairs of court,” Adam said, so stiffly Ronan nearly cut himself on it. It was structured as if a tidily packaged sentiment to be passed around. If Ronan didn’t know better, he’d think someone else was speaking through Adam’s mouth. A familiar voice at that.

“Wha—”

“Nothing we’re to do about it. Gansey will do what he and his family thinks is best for the kingdom. We are…” Adam faltered; eyes carefully blank but flickering enough to betray something that wavered under the surface. “We are to stand beside him, loyal, and do as we must.”

Ronan leaned forward, lips curled in a sneer. “Who told you that? Who have you been talking to?”

“It’s true.” Adam wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m just a blacksmith. You’re his confident and guard, his best friend, but even you have no lot of your own to throw into the proceedings.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Ronan asked, low and dangerous enough he felt the phantom bristling of Guillotine somewhere out on the grounds.

Adam turned his face from him, looking toward the doors and the bustle of cooks and maids. So quietly Adam’s mouth barely moved, he whispered, not sad but angry at himself in a way Ronan saw too often, “The Prince was never going to choose me. I am… I was foolish to think otherwise.”

A shard of ice pierced Ronan’s heart, splitting it open to let crackling flames rush down inside it. He grabbed Adam’s chin roughly, and was only a little sorry when Adam flinched badly and tried to jerk back. Ronan didn’t let him.

“Whoever told you that is a prick.”

“Careful—”

“No. You’re smarter than that.”

Adam froze, inhaling sharp and loud through his nose. His eyes rolled wild like a spooked horse’s might as they cut to something behind Ronan’s shoulder.

Ronan wasn’t so vain to think it had anything to do with him. He let Adam’s chin go.

“What?”

“Someone’s here,” Adam whispered.

There were plenty of people there, in the kitchen and up the stairwell not even a few feet from them. That’s not what Adam meant.

Ronan turned. He scanned the kitchen. Heat wafted up and shimmered over the big ovens, people milled about with purpose. Between it all was what looked like a plume of steam folded over on itself, drifting away from the rest.

Ronan tensed, shifting his feet to spring up at a moment’s notice. His hand dropped to his dagger.

And then he relaxed, knocking his knuckles against Adam’s wrist. The flicker of heat strengthened and was clumsily finding the idea of a shape. Maybe a boy, maybe a ghost, maybe a Cursed One.

“Behave,” Ronan warned.

“Oh, real convincing coming from you,” Adam said. He couldn’t say anymore when suddenly the air before them solidified into Noah, pursing his lips in concentration.

“You made it,” Ronan said.

Noah nodded, turning his hands over in front of his own face, examining them for anything missing. They were pale and marred with thorn scars, blood and soil caked under his ragged nails. Exactly how they always were.

“It wasn’t easy,” Noah said, dropping his hands as if he’d forgotten about them and simply cast them aside. “But I’m connected to Gansey. I followed the ley line. It is… _I_ am stronger here. I think it will get easier, for me to manifest.”

This was closer to where it had happened, after all, all those years ago. It only made sense that he would. Ronan hoped it wouldn’t backfire. They didn’t need a repeat performance.

He stole a look at Adam.

Adam’s eyes were steely and his jaw set, grinding his teeth to grind down the previous vulnerability.

“Hullo, Magician,” Noah said, soft and shy as a boy looking out from behind his mother’s skirts.

“Did you not think,” Adam began, speaking to Ronan but still looking at Noah, “that allowing him this close to the epicenter of the ley lines would connect his further with the spirit plane? Where he _should_ be to begin with. We might be opening a door we don’t know how to shut, Ronan, and if there really is a Necromancer on the grounds, one that knows _him,_ he’ll surely know how to use it.”

“It won’t get to that point.”

“Won’t it?”

“There is,” Noah interrupted.

Both boys looked to Noah sharply.

“What?” Adam asked.

“There is. A Necromancer. He’s here. I saw him. He snuck in behind the envoy earlier this morning. That’s why I’m here.” It was dreadfully ironic how haunted it made Noah look: paler, smaller, and purplish bruising even deeper in his hollows until he looked more skeleton than boy.

No.

Noah looked _hunted._

Ronan swore, getting to his feet in a clatter, yanking Adam up by the arm with him. “Where? Where the fuck is he, Noah?”

“The cellars. Not the ones under us. The one next to the servants’ quarters. I saw him use the south entrance.”

Ronan took off first, trusting Adam to follow. He dodged around a servant carrying a full platter, throwing himself over an open barrel of potatoes. He knew this place better than anyone, save Gansey himself. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

In his haste he accidentally ran right through Noah, who drifted to and fro around the room. His muscles all wound tight as if to avoid a collision, and then jerked trying not to stop short—flinching from a hit that never came.

The air was thick and cold. A shiver ran through him and somehow his thoughts scattered in the same way Noah’s image did—thrown in a million directions. It made him confused and dizzy, blinking away the flashing scenes of a meadow, a branch, a tree, a circle.

A meadow, a thick branch, a towering tree, a circle made of stones.

_A dark meadow, a branch heavy in wiry hands, a tree so tall it disappeared into the sky, a circle made of stones and chanting and blood and blood and blood and—_

A bolt of misplaced fear made his heart stop so fast he choked on it.

He stumbled.

Adam caught his arm and hauled him back up, dragging him along.

“Don’t stop,” Adam warned him. “Don’t linger. You’ll lose yourself.”

Ronan croaked, but it wasn’t the words he intended.

Adam just shook his head, and pushed Ronan ahead.

A cool breeze whispered in his ear. Nothing intelligible, but it sounded like its own sort of warning.

Ronan swatted by his ear, shooing Noah off.

 

 

Ronan had his sword drawn when they reached the entrance to the cellars. The door was still shut tightly, the lock heavy and untampered with. Ronan didn’t have the key to this lock.

He shook it hard, growling in frustration, and then kicked the door.

“Maybe Noah was wrong,” Adam said.

"He’s not.”

“Can I help you, my lord?” a voice called.

Ronan spun to see a lean man carrying a basket of freshly washed linens. “Get the grounds keeper. I need to get into here.”

“Yes, m’lord,” the man said, bowing his head slightly, and hurried off. His trousers were untucked, cuffs billowing around his boots. Sloppy. Doubtless he wouldn’t be very quick, then.

Ronan stepped back from the door, crouching to prod at the dirt and grass. Lots of traffic through the area, but nothing out of the ordinary. No signs someone had forced the door open. “You think he used magic? To get through.”

“Probably.” Adam drew his fingertips lightly over the surface of the door, bowing over Ronan to do so, and Ronan could only watch the way he traced an invisibly pattern across the wood grains. “If he’s a master in the dark arts, there’s no telling what he can accomplish. I don’t know much about it.”

“No one does, that’s the problem,” Ronan said.

“For good reason.”

“We don’t have _time_ for this, Adam.” Ronan pushed himself up to stand, subsequently pushing Adam back from him so he was no longer hovering. “Can you open it?”

Adam glanced at the lock, but said nothing.

“For Gansey, then. Forget about Noah, okay? This is all for Gansey. If you care about him at—”

Adam shoved at his shoulder—shutting him up and pushing him out of the way in the same move. Both his hands pressed flat to the door, and then glided down to cradle the lock.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and then let it out. In. Out. Measured. Five seconds between each.

At first nothing happened. Ronan shifted, hissing through his teeth.

And then the ground beneath their feet shook, small and barely perceptible if Ronan hadn’t been primed. Up against the castle foundation where grass and weeds grew unchecked, a small creeping bit of ivy unfurled and crawled up the zigzagging pattern of stone.

Ronan took a step back, thinking to give both plant and druid room, but it really was small. Little shoots of fresh leaves, the flesh of the vine tender and pale.

It had been a while since he’d seen Adam do any sort of magic on purpose, years since he’d witnessed Adam grab hold of his craft and bend it to his will. But it still filled him with the same uncomplicated joy he’d experienced whenever his father had brought him a new gift, always whimsical and impossible.

When he looked up, Adam’s hands trembled. His eyes were open and unseeing, the sharp brown of them overtaken by deep green, glowing bright enough to mute out the rest of his eye sockets. It gave the appearance of something dangerous and beautiful.

An elemental; a corpse; a wraith.

All at once Ronan got the sense that the small bit of magic wasn’t difficult for Adam, but rather the act of _keeping_ it small. Adam was _so much_ at times, his abilities sometimes too big to fit inside his skin; that’s why they’d traveled to the druids in the first place, years ago. He loved watching it, it sated an itch and hunger that grew deep inside him, the desire for the same magic that was intertwined with his own self.

That was what probably drew Ronan to Adam in the first place. He tried not to think about it.

The vine twitching under Adam’s control slid over the door and looped around the padlock, sliding into the keyhole. It visibly curled in on itself to fill the crude shape of a key. Adam’s hands tightened around the padlock, nudging the key in further, the skin between his eyebrows pinching in concentration.

Ronan sucked a breath in threw his teeth, and looked away.

The lock clicked loud, and he looked back to watch it fall open into Adam’s cupped palms.

Ronan wondered if the metal was warmed.

Instead of reaching out to touch it, to slip his fingers into Adam’s palm in its place to see if his skin was warmed from it, he shouldered Adam out of the way to shove the door open.

The cellar was empty. Of course it was. It was filled with sealed boxes of dried goods, extra bandages and medical supplies, bolts of rough fabrics, and a dozen other odds and ends for the servants’ use. But no Necromancer, no arcane tools, nothing that gave him a chilled feeling when magic lingered in places it shouldn’t.

Adam came up behind him, his breathing too audible in the dark. “Anything?” he whispered.

Ronan shook his head. He walked through the four interconnected storage rooms, following the circuit. Not a speck of dust or spiderweb looked out of place. His lips curled in a soundless snarl, jaw grinding.

“We’ll wait for him.”

“No,” Adam said. “He’ll know we’re here. If we wait for him, no one’s watching Gansey.”

Ronan swore. “Fine. We keep a discreet guard here. In the meantime, we find Gansey.” He whirled around and stomped out into the sunlight. “And that damned grounds keeper. Where is he? I’m taking that key. No one has access without us knowing about it.”

“Don’t be rash,” Adam said, but it was soft, faraway and distracted. “If we show our hand too much here, it’ll be harder to keep tabs on him. Better to keep this place looking empty. Flush him into a trap.”

Ronan waited for him to elaborate. Nothing further came. When he turned, Adam stood on the stoop, forehead and mouth pinched. That flicker of magic, darker than green, still seemed to pace within Adam, visible around the edges of the whites of his eyes—in the twitches of his fingers. Adam had never answered when Ronan asked if the magic was more addicting if indulged or ignored.

“C’mon,” Ronan said. He tugged on Adam’s arm. Adam didn’t budge, for a moment as if rooted to the ground as he considered something. Ronan couldn’t move him, not until one minute, two, three, ticked by and finally Adam inhaled and turned into Ronan’s grip like a thicket swaying in the wind—coming alive all at once, less druid and more man. If it even worked like that. 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The next day was a beautiful day to go adventuring. The sun was out, the sky was clear and blue, and their horses danced under them in anticipation. The land, and the hills beyond, simply begged to be explored. It was like something out of a fairytale, or a children’s story.

The adventuring party themselves were not half as bright-eyed. Each of them, Gansey noted, looked exhausted and troubled.

Gansey himself had spent most of the previous night with Henry, chatting and catching up and laying out everything he’d missed in the last five years of Gansey’s quest. The rest of the silent hours had been devoted to carving. He’d picked up various types of wood while showing Henry around the estate and the small bit of forest at the edges of the back gardens, and working between them was both challenging and rewarding. And diverting.

But that didn’t result in much easy sleep, as his mind continued to turn and whirl with thoughts of what it would mean to finally find his sleeping king. Thinking, too, of his assassin and what it would mean if his death was much closer and more certain than he’d accounted for.

Henry must not have slept much himself after their talk. In the low light of the flickering fireplace in Gansey’s rooms, he’d confided his worry of the caves they intended to explore. He did not do so well in small, dark spaces. Gansey’s heart ached for him.

Adam always looked tired, something that made Gansey’s heart equally aching, but he’d been up scrying. Gansey had been wandering like a ghost in his own home (he loved this place, but his relationship with it had become complicated: feeling like he belonged and yet in contrast the place belonged to a past version of himself he’d lost,) when he’d come across Adam. Adam had been in a parlor with a mirror, a bowl of water, and something that slid like oil across a gold plate. The latter was difficult to look at, something sick twisting in Gansey’s gut and unable to identify it when his eyes refused to focus on it for more than a moment or two.

Adam had been so focused, his eyes ghastly green voids, that Gansey had moved on without disturbing him.

Ronan, predictably, had been up all night patrolling the castle and all the little nooks only two boys could’ve found while playing that an assailant could now use against them.

Blue… well, he wasn’t sure _what_ Blue had been up doing instead of getting her rest, but it made her distracted and moody.

On all accounts they really shouldn’t be out here doing this at all. It was dangerous. It was important. But Gansey was impatient when they were _so close._ He was running out of time. He needed this. He needed one thing that made sense in how it _shouldn_ _’t;_ needed one thing that was all his and had nothing to do with the throne or his family or his responsibilities.

He needed it, and so they would.

They set out under the banner of sunshine and song birds twittering frantically as Guillotine wheeled through the air chasing them to her heart’s content.

Despite the danger of it and the way they dragged, it _was_ a beautiful day. Exactly the kind of day made for finding sleeping kings, getting magical rewards, and stopping assassination attempts. Perhaps they could have everything wrapped up in time for dinner. That would leave him more time to plan for the little party he wanted to have in a couple of days, to ease everyone’s nerves and soothe the tension.

He was shaken from his plans by the sun darkening overhead. They’d barely made any headway, just down the slope of the grazing field and through the low fence that encircled the manicured estate, and already something blotted out the sun and in the same way their plans.

A dragon dropped out of the sky with a ground-shaking _thump_ , cutting off their path. Henry’s horse whinnied and skittered backwards, eyes rolling in fear.

Helen slid off the back of Vasilica, her riding gear moving with her like a second skin under minimal armor that gleamed in the light. Her lips pursed, looking between them all, finally landing on Gansey. For a long moment she simply considered him. Gansey, in turn, considered both of them.

Vasilica was feline sleek; as dark as that black moment after twilight, all inky dark blues and pitch emptiness before the stars came out. If she was the abandoned night sky, her eyes were the only stars. Smoke escaped in wispy tendrils from her nostrils when they flared.

Somehow, Helen and Vasilica shared the same judgmental expression.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Helen asked. She glared at Ronan. “And without a full guard.”

Ronan snorted, urging his horse up beside Gansey’s.

“A picnic,” Gansey said lightly. He waved a hand back to indicate the packs and baskets split between Adam’s heavier horse and Blue’s moorland pony.

“It’s not safe for you right now,” Helen said. She narrowed her eyes. “But then, it’s a lovely day. Perhaps Orla and I will accompany you.”

Gansey held onto his diplomatic smile as tightly as he could.

Vasilica laid down, her long body arcing across their intended path. She crossed her paws, crossing wicked talons, flicking her tail out.

“I’m sure you have plenty other important things to do than laze with us,” Gansey said.

“My important job is to make sure these meetings go smoothly,” Helen said. She leaned back against the dragon, arm stretched along her neck. “And that my little brother doesn’t get killed.”

“Adam and I can handle that,” Ronan said fiercely.

Henry stood up in his stirrups. His horse, rightly unused to towering predators, refused to move to the front of the group and that much closer to the dragon. “Your highness, you have nothing to worry about there. You can take my word that we harbor no ill will towards your family for the… shuffle. 

“Doubtful,” Ronan muttered, loud enough only for Adam.

Henry cut him a glance like he heard it anyway. “It certainly makes things difficult, but we are more than willing to work with you all to draw up new treaties and negotiations. I truly believe we can work things out so everyone leaves satisfied. We have no intention of violence or retribution.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Helen said darkly. She held up a hand to cut off anything else Henry had to say. To Gansey, “He doesn’t know.”

In all reality Gansey hadn’t meant for Helen to know either, but she was his sister and shrewder that most gave her credit for, despite being heir apparent. She really would’ve made a great ruler. Unfortunate that she had the same niggling sense of adventure as he did; unfortunate that she was able to completely defy their parents in a way Gansey wasn’t sure he could. He craved their approval, and he wanted his people to like him.

He especially couldn’t defy them now. Not while he was their last chance for a proper ruler. He had to fill her shoes as best he could, despite how she’d stolen his.

“What?” Henry turned his horse, turning all of himself to Gansey. Adam clucked his tongue and moved out of his way and around the group where it was less complicated by Blue. “What don’t I know? Is there something I should know? Gansey, please, tell me—”

“There are…” Gansey faltered. “Larger forces at work, currently. We have reason to believe there is someone intent on taking my life.”

Henry’s eyes widened as his face turned ashy. He looked at all of them in turn, ostensibly to see if any expression matched his. He was met with passive understanding. “Gansey man, you could’ve _said_ something! We could’ve postponed this meeting entirely. You should be in protective custody and—”

“We’re handling it,” Ronan snapped.

“Should we even be here?” Henry asked, leaning forward to lower his voice and still be heard. “What do we know about—”

“Here is not the place to discuss it,” Helen said.

If Henry was peeved at being continually cut off, it was low on his priorities.

“Now, where are you really heading,” Helen asked.

“The old diamond caves,” Gansey said. “They’re empty now, obviously. Have been for years. But there’s a lot of odd legends and occurrences there. It’s on a ley line, the real one, not just the trace. A lot of my research has led me there.”

“For your king.”

“Yes.”

It bordered on blasphemy, to hold some other monarch, a foreign one at that, in higher stature than the current reign. If Helen still held judgment about that, she didn’t let it show.

Helen shifted on her feet, hand curling around a spike on the back of Vasilica’s neck in thought. “And you’ve all been pulled into this?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adam said, when it seemed like no one else would.

“I thought it was intriguing,” Henry added. “I have less room and time to wander, at home. And Gansey is… persuasive.”

Gansey flushed and adjusted his glasses.

Helen raised an eyebrow at him, then at Gansey, and lastly Adam. “So it seems. Alright. I assume mother and father have signed off on this picnic farce of yours?”

“There’s actually food in here,” Blue said, hooking her thumb at the bags. “We were planning on it, after the fact. Brought extra, in case being asleep for hundreds of years makes a king cranky.”

Helen rolled her eyes, but her lips curled in a repressed laugh. “You and your cousin are exactly the same.”

Blue pulled a face.

“Fine. Be on your way.” Helen strode over to their party and yanked Ronan’s horse’s head down by the bit. “You watch him, and you make sure you’re not followed. Orla and I will meet with you after your excursion. In the meadow. Do not be late.”

Ronan leaned forward to slap her hand away.

 

 

They had to leave the horses several hundred feet away from the mouth of the caves. Any closer and they skittered back and tossed their heads, hooves striking the rock-littered ground.

They each had a lantern, but somehow it didn’t seem like enough. The small space should’ve reflected all their flickering light back at them to create a warm sphere of light. Instead the twisting paths seemed to slowly draw the light into the walls.

“Spooky,” Ronan said.

Henry, who’d proven himself likely as anyone to offer a joke, said nothing.

Gansey looked back, gaze catching briefly on Adam’s solemn face, beautiful dark eyes shining bright as amber in the swing of lantern light. Those eyes met his and for a moment a conversation passed between them. Asked later, Gansey wouldn’t be able to say what it had been about.

To Henry he said, “Your support means a great deal, but you don’t have to come. You can wait with the horses, I’m sure they’d appreciate the company.”

“Ah, thank you,” Henry said, but shook his head, using the motion to focus on his feet and breathe through his nose.

Blue hummed sympathetically. Of everyone, Gansey hadn’t expected Blue to like Henry, not in the least because she’d said emphatically that she _hadn_ _’t._ But it seemed the amount that Ronan and Adam didn’t care for him had firmly swayed her into the opposite camp. Contrary little thing. He loved her.

Henry cleared his throat, and finished, stronger, “I’d prefer to stay with you. With you all. It’s important to you and… and even if things between us are not what they were, it’s important to me as well. I’d like to take this time to get to know you better, and it that means exploring deadly caves, then so be it!” He laughed and, while it was a little strained, it was still utterly sincere.

Gansey smiled and reached back for his hand, squeezing reassuringly. “You’re far braver than I’ll ever hope to be.”

Ronan’s made a retching noise. When Gansey looked, Ronan was sharing the reaction with Adam.

And Adam, beautiful and intelligent Adam, was, against all odds, very nearly smiling, even if his hands were clenched tight.

Gansey’s heart panged with uncertainty and the ever-present sense of loss.

He and Henry had stayed up far later than was wise the night before, talking of many things. Even things that were to be discussed in the presence of their parents: their kingdoms, trade routes, politics, their own arranged engagement. They had not come to any solid decisions on the matters and that made him all the more uncertain, all the more like he was sliding down a steep slope, and every plant he grabbed for slipping through his raw palms.

_You haven_ _’t lost anything yet,_ he reminded himself. _You are gaining. That is the point of this. And if nothing else there is always Ronan. Always Helen._

But even that felt like wishful thinking. Helen spent most of her days now either in the skies with Vasilica or wrapped up in Orla’s soft skin and softer perfume.

He held Henry’s hand tighter, keeping them both moving, but giving Henry the decency of not hurrying and allowing him to pull them back if he preferred. His blood sang in his veins for it, more so in the dim lighting. He thought he felt Henry’s pulse mirror his, but that might as well have been nerves at the darkness. He wanted to find out which it was. He wanted to explore the newness that was Henry and everything he knew about his mind but very little about his actual self.

Glendower had been waiting for him to find him for centuries; he could wait for him a little longer.

 

 

They turned back much sooner than he would’ve liked, but there was the issue of a chasm, a triple fork in the cave, and lastly a swarm of bats so fervent that it took everything in Gansey not to crumble in panic under the flashing memories of hundreds of wings and legs and stinging shocks.

The meadow didn’t help his nerves. The meadow was far too close to the The Glade.

He hadn’t been back there in seventeen years, but he still remembered the way, his eyes glued to the little path worn conspicuous by deer and smaller wildlife. The path was dark, shaded by trees, despite the sweltering midday sun. He was repulsed by it as much as he morbidly drawn.

Ronan snapped fingers in front of his face, and then wrapped an arm around his head to pull him roughly off balance into a friendly scuffle Ronan himself always won.

“Well,” Orla called, already waiting with Helen and already looking impatient, “where’s all this food I heard about?”

Adam immediately began unloading packs, and then seemed to think better of it, angry at himself for jumping to attention. Blue stepped up beside him to help, whispering something to him that Gansey ached to know.

Orla didn’t move an inch to help. She lounged in the grass, leaning up against Vasilica as if the dragon was a particularly ornate chaise lounge. Vasilica sat proud, unmoved by birds and little creatures stirring the grass. Her sharp eyes stayed fixed on the perimeter. Of all the lifestyles Helen could’ve chosen to give up an entire kingdom for, not only was dragon riding the most impossible and impressive (as the Gansey family was predisposed to grand interests,) but also the safest.

An assassin, even a necromancer, wouldn’t dare move on them right now, even if the meadow was open and gave every opportunity to catch them with nowhere to hide or defend themselves.

It was odd to think that only six months ago Helen hadn’t had Vasilica, or Orla, or the freedom of the rest of her life in the open sky ahead of her. She had just been Princess Helen, first in line, at the tail end of her training to rule. And eager to strike out on her last quest to prove herself, eager to cement her abilities and achieve something truly great before the next step of her life began.

Maybe that was why she’d been so focused on her quest. A last hurrah, a chance to be out on her own and leave her mark. She’d left a much bigger one than ever anticipated.

There’d been reports and sightings of a dragon, the first one seen in… decades, maybe even a century. She’d gone and decided that slaying the last would be a fitting quest for a queen to be. It would’ve been. In theory. Declan was slated to accompany her, as all of the Lynches were intertwined with The Gansey house and pledged themselves generations ago. And as an accomplished Warlock who’d grown beside her, he was best suited as her guard.

But then she’d gone to the Fox Way Cottage—as all nobility did before a quest—and met Orla, who insisted she was going with Helen and Declan on their travels; that she could be helpful, that they needed her. And really, a woman like Orla, who was Helen to deny her?

And then there were the dragons, stress of the plural. There was a whole den of them centralized around nests. Dozens of them, hidden away after the last crusades, finally repopulating to the point it was difficult to hide.

And they were _intelligent_. Sympathetic creatures capable of problem solving and their own sort of communication. It really put a stick in the whole “adventuring to slay a dragon” plan, and suddenly all Helen wanted to do was train the one she’d bonded with, study the others, and kiss Orla.

And just as suddenly Gansey found himself with a kingdom and a legacy and a new full-time position.

Helen gathered the blankets and thrust one at Gansey to break him out of his spell. “Make yourself useful.”

Gansey did not point out that he had, overnight, become the most useful individual in the kingdom. He just unfolded blankets and canvas covers to keep the dew from soaking up.

His thoughts, now corralled, returned to the caves and his sleeping king; his self remained a mile away in a shadowy glade.

He wondered if the nest had been rebuilt.

All these years and it had not faded from his memories. He still lived it viscerally some nights.

He felt its pull now. Felt the humming in the ground beneath them, reaching its tendrils and soft questions.

That way laid death.

And yet Gansey couldn’t help but think that maybe to lose was necessary in the finding.

 

~*~

 

For once, the picnic proceeded as pleasant and charmingly as the concept suggested. There were sandwiches, pastries, fruits, and little treats from the cooks stuffing the baskets and bags to bulging. And, with the disheartening return from the caves, everyone was either determined to please Gansey, or simply too disappointed to bicker.

It was nice, in its own way.

Even Ronan was behaving. He sat tense and legs folded up like he was crammed in an invisible box, feeding Guillotine scraps as she squawked at him. When he wasn’t, she brought Adam little flowers, bugs, a particularly green patch of moss. Adam graciously, and bemused, accepted each one and put it in a pile to dispose of later.

No one seemed up much for talking.

Or rather, Henry and Orla chattered ceaselessly, and no one cared to try to get a word in edgewise.

Henry laughed, sudden and self-indulgent without being self-conscious. “Your stories sound so enchanting. Truly. To be able to strike off with only your concern to be of victory and triumph.” He sighed, wistful, and for a moment Gansey pictured him perched at the top of a tower, forlorn and waiting for adventure to come find him.

Gansey offered Henry a nectarine—grown in their own orchards, therefore fresh and firm, the perfect balance of tart and sweet. “Did you not have a coming of age quest?”

Henry shook his head. He rolled the nectarine between his palms carefully, considering something beyond the sunset blushed fruit. “We study and study our whole lives to rule, and assist elders with laws and taxes, help with border disputes. Travel around smaller towns to make sure they are being governed fairly. We do not risk our heirs unless something catastrophic arises.”

“How elegant,” Gansey praised. “You never mentioned, before.”

“I did not think our kingdoms were so different to warrant it.”

“You must think us barbaric in comparison, running off into certain danger.”

Henry offered a smile, shaking his head again. He bit into the nectarine, lips glancing across the heel of his palm to catch dripping juice; Gansey watched, and found himself unable to recall what they’d just been talking about.

“It must be invigorating,” Henry said. It took a great effort for Gansey to pull his eyes up. “And when you return you have trophies, unable to be contested that you deserve to hold the station given to you. I wonder if we would not benefit from such a ceremony.”

“It does keep the bloodline strong,” Helen agreed. She tore apart a long pastry filled with cream and nuts and candied fruits, popping a piece in her mouth before offering one to Orla. Orla merely opened her mouth, eyes closed as she continued to sprawl in the curve of Vasilica’s folded legs, soaking up the sun. Helen had been hand feeding her all afternoon, and it thrilled on the edge of irreverence. Helen didn’t seem to mind, Orla delighted in making a noble dote on her, and it made Ronan grimace: all triumphs in Orla’s eyes.

“You should move the wine,” Orla mussed, almost dreamy.

Helen quirked an eyebrow, looking around, but did not see any bottles in her vicinity and in danger of being knocked over, so she did no such thing. They were all getting used to Orla’s consistent and small prophecies.

But Henry leaned forward in interest. “And you got to accompany Princess Helen. Is that common?”

“For an oracle? No,” Orla said. “Oracles guide and assist. Nobles choose their quest, or have a quest thrust upon them, and then visit the oracles of Fox Way for direction.”

The way she said _thrust_ came from her throat and was indecent enough Gansey looked away and found Adam blushing as well. Ronan rolled his eyes and pulled a bottle of wine— _oh!—_ out of the basket between him and Helen, and wrestled with the cork. He took a swig directly from the bottle and Helen rolled her eyes right back. They have very different ideas of impropriety.

Orla raised her sharp eyebrows at Henry without comment, but pleased with herself and the awe on Henry’s face. “Three is a sacred number, though, and recommended for quests. Helen did not have a third, yet, and of course I could see her future.” She looked Helen over with more indecency than should be allowed out of one’s private chambers, _gracious._ “She could use my help.”

“You wanted me,” Helen corrected.

“Both can be true.”

Helen just hummed, but her lips quirked at the corner, and deigned to feed Orla another piece of pastry. Her thumb expertly wiped at a drip of cream at the corner of Orla’s full lips.

Orla’s tongue flashed to follow, just the barest flick of pink, the smile left behind far more obscene. But Helen still watched, eyes turning glassy, pupils expanding dark like an animal’s—like a predator seeing something interesting to be subdued. Gansey suddenly understood a dozen metaphors.

He looked away again, feeling like an intruder at his own picnic. His gaze, aimless, inevitably found Ronan, and thus by extension, Adam. The latter was carefully cutting up fruit with a knife and caught his eye. They looked at each other for a long moment, the distance feeling like the length of the grand table instead of mere feet. And then, with much more care than it warranted, Adam sliced up an apple and offered the array of slices to him.

Gansey took a few, nodding his thanks. He turned to find Henry watching them in turn, and offered him an apple slice as well. Things had become very quiet but he couldn’t quite say why or if that was simply his own misconception of the moment.

Henry brightened, and yet his expression also twisting incredibly tender. “Trade me,” he offered, and held out a pear chunk as well. “I brought these from home, remember how I said I would?” He smiled, leaning closer (they really could not get much closer at this point and Gansey’s pulse pounded in his ears,) and pressing the piece of fruit to Gansey’s lips.

Gansey inhaled quick, but opened his mouth to it. Even if it was from the surprise of it. Crisp, cool sweetness broke across his tongue and he could only hum and look at Henry with renewed admiration.

Henry offered another piece, and this time Gansey’s lips brushed Henry’s fingers.

It was electric. The touch, even brief, made something bright strike through his heart; fuzzy like he was under some sort of chemical influence.

Henry _smiled._ It was bright and considering and his eyes kept flicking between Gansey’s mouth and eyes and something down around the sash against his tunic. Henry’s hand hadn’t pulled away and now even when it did, his thumb glanced down Gansey’s bottom lip.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

He only _yearned._

He broke their gazes because if they didn’t, he’d… he’d… he’d…

He swallowed, glancing away as he cleared his throat. Adam, when he peeked, was frowning down at the blanket, apple and knife lax in his hands.

Ronan made some sort of disgruntled noise that seemed to break all three boys out of their tightly-wound spell, and Gansey watched him tip the wine bottle back to take a deep swallow. And another (Adam was watching his throat, why was Adam watching his throat.) And then another. And then—

“Gods above,” Helen said, scornfully. “You’re to remain sharp! If you drown yourself and heavens forbid an assassin shows their face—

Orla clucked her tongue, cutting Helen off. “Vas can be sharp enough, can’t she?” Orla stretched out, legs lengthening, arms winding lazily over her head and dragging fingertips along a spiked horn jutting from Vasilica’s shoulder. “She’s plenty sharp, to protect us. Wouldn’t you say?” Her fingers continued down, running the softest touch down the dragon’s scales—Vasilica’s scales rippled in a subtle reflex to the tickle, not unlike a cat—to her claws, and let her head roll back to rest against Vasilica once more.

Helen opened her mouth, but had to swallow when nothing but a dry crack came.

“This was a terrible idea,” Blue muttered, darkly. “Can’t even eat fruit anymore.”

That made Ronan laugh, and then sputter, and suddenly they were thick as damn thieves, leaning together as they cackled to some joke Gansey always felt on the outside of.

Still, it was good to see them getting along.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Adam flipped another card and cursed. It was too late to still be doing this, especially considering how early they’d gotten up to explore the caves today, but he was restless and uncertain and something ate away at his gut whenever he thought of Gansey.

He told himself it was the impending danger, the threat to Gansey’s life, but there was something distinctly acrid about the twist in his stomach.

He couldn’t sleep. This was the next best thing.

But every card he pulled was either nonsense or had little to do with Gansey’s trajectory and more to do with… just Gansey.

He groaned and tossed the whole deck across the table, and then dashed his fist through the water in the shallow bowl while he was at it. He slumped back against his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

A floorboard behind him creaked, and Adam threw himself out of his chair and had a ceremonial dagger up to Henry’s throat before he realized who it was.

“Your highness,” he gasped. He stumbled back, dropping the dagger to the floor, where it clattered under the table. A dozen warnings and thoughts flashed through his mind, and at the forefront was that he was going to be hung for treason.

Henry breathed fast and shallow, his eyes wide and nervous as a spooked horse in the flickering lights of the library candelabras. But the yellow glow of the candles couldn’t produce the pink high on Henry’s cheeks, either. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your work. I only thought—” He swallowed; Adam watched his throat and how it stuttered, as if the action thick and complicated.

Adam shook his head. “Forgive me. Your highness, I—I—I didn’t know it was you.” Every part of him protested as he made himself drop to his knees (he did not _kneel,_ and especially not for a foreign prince, but if he didn’t, he might not survive the night.)

A hand touched his shoulder and Adam couldn’t stop the flinch. Something like bile rose in his throat.

“No, no, Adam, please stand. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s fine, all is forgiven—nothing to forgive.”

For a long moment neither of them moved. Then Adam shrugged Henry’s hand off, as politely as he could, and stood. He kept his head down, eyes pinned to the floor, hating the begging voice in his mind that sounded like when he was eleven.

“Your highness,” Adam ground out, but had nothing else to say. What was there to say?

“I only saw the light in here. And then I saw you scrying. I was curious.”

Adam furrowed his brows and looked up, meeting Henry’s gaze straight on. “You were watching? For how long?”

Henry shrugged, looking to the side in a way that spoke of sheepish. “Your face… it is, forgive my being forward, but it is beautiful when you divine. I was taken aback.”

Adam frowned, and despite everything felt his cheeks heat. _What did that have to do with anything?_ “Is there something I can help you with?” It was too curt and he almost cringed. But he was unbalanced and still stricken with the very real possibility of being dragged before the court for judgment.

It occurred to him too late that he should bow—this was Gansey’s home and he was Gansey’s guest, but he should still show Henry some sort of deference. He bent at the waist, aborting it before a full bow because Henry was much closer than he realized.

Henry’s hand slowly came into view, reaching for his face maybe— _he_ _’s going to tip my face up, he’s going to touch my chin, we’re too close, it’s too quiet, he’s going to do that thing that Gansey—_ and Adam stepped back, straightening on his own.

 There was something searching and disappointed in Henry’s eyes. His hand still hovered before him, fingers gently curled.

Adam looked away. He inhaled, slow and measured, and clenched his fingers tightly where his arms were folded behind his back. “It’s late, your highness. If there’s nothing you require of me…”

“I wanted to talk.”

Adam glanced back, eyebrows pinching. “Now?”

“You weren’t sleeping, and neither was I. Why not now?”

Adam thought about that but, begrudgingly, couldn’t find fault in it. “Alright, talk then. About what?” He almost grimaced, never more aware of his roughened accent than when talking to nobility on little sleep and so his tongue loose and worn around familiar speech patterns—it had no business being familiar around Henry and Adam would cut out his traitorous tongue if he could.

“Not here,” Henry said. His lips twitched at the corner, perhaps hiding a secret there. He straightened his shoulders, one arm behind his back and gesturing with the other for Adam to go first into the hall. It was a very Gansey-like gesture. Or rather, a gesture reserved for higher stations and affection and therefore had no business being directed at _him._

It felt like a trap.

He couldn’t figure what Henry might want from him, but also couldn’t think of a polite way to turn him down now.

So he nodded once, short, and stepped away from his table with only a second of hesitancy to leave all his tools out. He’d be back. _Soon._ That would be a good enough excuse to take his swift leave.

Henry matched his pace easily enough, and Adam found it frustrating that Henry would not allow him to fall back a half-step.

“What can I do for you, your highness?” Adam had a hard time making it pass his lips.

“Please, call me Henry. We’re all friends here, yes?”

“I’d rather not.”

Silence rang, broken only by their muffled footsteps.

Adam knew it was impolite.

He didn’t correct it.

When Adam convinced himself to glance over and assess whether he might need to run for it, Henry was frowning. But… not angry, just a brand of upset that Adam couldn’t understand. It made something tighten in Adam’s shoulders that he couldn’t quite make release.

Henry lead him through the dark halls; passing Gansey’s rooms, passing Blue’s, passing the east wing where the current regents slept. Adam followed down the stairs and around the ballroom, and out into the gardens.

One of the wrought iron tables, beautifully shaped, was laid out in finger foods not unlike their picnic earlier, a bottle of wine, and two goblets. 

Adam ground to a stop, stiffening. He inhaled sharp and took too long to find his words. “Why have you brought me here?”

“I simply wish to talk.”

“Talking does not require all,” he gestured helpless, “ _this._ _”_

_“Well,”_ Henry said, all in a huff, flailing his arms not unlike Guillotine when she got all ruffled and cranky. It seemed animated for show. But then, Adam couldn’t pretend to know him well enough to assume his moods and humor. “I guess I just wanted to meet you.”

“We’ve met.”

Henry flapped his hands again, but this time at Adam, both to quiet him and direct him to sit down.

Adam did, for lack of anything better to do. Maybe surprise, mostly.

“Yes, but I wanted to meet you properly. Just us. Just you. I wanted to get to know you.” He gestured helplessly (always gesturing, always moving, always emoting as if his thoughts couldn’t be contained—or maybe his thoughts couldn’t be fully conveyed through words alone,) and then slumped into the chair across from Adam, comically at a loss. “Gansey speaks of you constantly in our letters. He thinks the world of you. I’ve wanted to meet you for myself. And we haven’t had much time to get to know each other, have we?”

Adam was finding himself frequently at a loss for words, and their conversations had really only just begun. Henry just… kept taking him by surprise. He didn’t like it.

 “He… you write?”

“Of course! We’ve been writing since we were children.” Henry did not say _since we were promised to one another,_ but the swirl of guilt and consideration in his eyes was clear as day even through the shadowy glow of dozens of candles. He was frightfully transparent for a king-to-be, and Adam felt an awful and misplaced pang of exasperated worry.

Henry didn’t need that from him, and Adam sure as hell did not have enough to waste on boys he didn’t know.

Henry continued, “I knew of his quests, but not the specifics because he always said it was too grand to fit on sheets of paper.” He smiled to himself—smiled at _Adam_ as if they were sharing some indulgently affectionate wordless exchange about Gansey and his antics. Adam shifted, looking away because the exchange was far too… intimate. It made him feel known. Henry hadn’t earned that.

“It is quite a lot to relay,” Adam hedged. And then could only watch as Henry stood to pick up the bottle of wine and serve Adam first.

Adam mumbled his thanks before he thought better of it. Food was arranged on his plate before he could balk at being served by an heir apparent; it was fortuitous that Gansey thought little of station and thus Adam had plenty of experience in nobles lowering themselves into the dust to sit beside him.

It still baffled him. But it didn’t stop him from nibbling at the fresh fruit, savoring the sweet juice that came after the burst of tartness. He ate better with Gansey than he’d ever been able to before, and he always feared he’d get too used to it. That way laid danger.

He cleared his throat and asked, “But why me? Why not Ronan. Or Blue? I’m sure he talks about Blue all the time. He was half-mad over her, once. No offense to your…” and waved a hand at Henry instead of finish.

Henry put down his cup. He looked at Adam across the table, truly _looking_ at him.

Adam swallowed down the urge to squirm.

“Because I know Ronan well enough, and Gansey doesn’t talk about Blue the way he does you. You are… an exquisite creature, in his words. He might not have wanted to talk about Glendower and spoil the gravitas and magic, but he spoke of you constantly. Sometimes I wondered if it wasn’t all a grand metaphor.” Henry inhaled to continue, paused, then exhaled on a sad, half smile. “If I may be blunt, all these years I’ve been a bit jealous of you. I fear I’ve lost my chance with him. To you.”

Adam very abruptly choked on a piece of cheese and made a fool of himself coughing before he could speak again. When he did, his ears burned hot. “Me? No, no, that’s not, I’m not—” Disbelief was washed out all at once with the dizzying fear of _violence._ He was grappling with kings here, even premature ones. “No, y’r highness, I promise there’s not a thing untoward between me ‘n him.” He should speak better in Henry’s presence. Fear made his words slur, worn and comfortable, quicker than the pretty and sharpened pronunciation of court. “I haven’t made advances or nothin’. He’s yours. I know that. Only a fool would think to get between politics.”

He hadn’t realized he’d moved to get up until Henry’s hand was over his on the table, holding him immobile.

“Don’t go.” And then, “Please, don’t leave just yet. I didn’t mean it in spite or malice. Gansey is his own man, and now saddled with more than either of us planned for. I simply wished to talk. As one person who cares for him to another. But I said it wrong, I know, I do that sometimes.”

Dumbfounded, Adam sat. There really wasn’t anything else he could do. He felt, not for the first time, woefully unprepared for the life of court he’d managed to stumble himself into. He wasn’t meant for this. This was not intended for a man such as himself.

He couldn’t refute that he cared for Gansey, but he wouldn’t admit it to Henry either. Henry had more of a claim to Gansey than Adam ever would. As much as it ached.

“What do you really want from me?” Adam finally asked. His mouth was dry. He took a drink of wine to wet it, lacking anything safer. Henry didn’t hide how this pleased him.

“To know you,” Henry said simply. He shrugged, thin shoulders lifting as carelessly as Ronan’s did; two sorts of creatures made to fit in mortal bodies.

Adam thought, oddly enough, of the mechanical bee Henry had. He was ashamed to admit how much he wanted to examine it and see how it worked.

“This is not a competition, Adam. And if it was, the only thing I’m hoping to win by being here is a stable future for my kingdom. Whatever that means, however that means.”

It was awfully sensible of Henry.

Adam hated him a little for it. It would be a lot easier to hate Henry if he was selfish or cruel. He thought back, almost desperately, to how Henry had been all over Gansey earlier at the picnic; hanging on him and smiling at him and making him smile. It bordered on indecent.

It helped bolster Adam’s defenses.

“I am…” Adam hesitated, looking at his plate and pushing at a perfectly cut square of bread. “I am not in the business of being known.”

Henry cocked his head, truly confused by this, and Adam hated how it made him look like a puppy.

“It has not brought me comfort, in the past, not in the way most people revel in. Even saying this is more than I am comfortable with, but… since you will be here with us for a while, since you care for Gansey, since there are more immediate threats to Gansey than you, I suppose I have little choice.”

Henry, for the first time since they’d met, seemed utterly devoid of words.

A very small (a very kept in check) part of Adam latched onto this as a victory, smug and relieved to have won some sort of point in a game only he seemed to be playing. That was fine.

“That’s alright,” Henry said.

Adam blinked. He had expected, at the very least, pouting and prodding as Gansey did, trying to endear himself to Adam in an effort to loosen his lips.

Henry offered a smile, resettling himself in his chair and piling more unnecessary treats and fruits on Adam’s plate. He was well used to serving, it seemed, and Adam’s ever-hungry mind wondered about the customs and rituals of court and the table that were kept in Henry’s country.

“That’s fine. It’s not for everyone,” Henry continued. “I won’t ask you to answer anything that discomforts you. Something else then. Because I still very much wish to speak with you, and there are countless ways to learn someone, or at least enjoy their company. Gansey tells me all sorts of things about how clever and sensible you are, and how you help give insight on tariffs, laws, and the occasional treaty.” Henry’s eyes sparkled as he spread his hands wide on the table in apparent excitement. It was directly opposite of how Gansey steepled his fingers when sounding the same.

Adam noted, bitterly, that they mirrored each other well. His ears warmed, too, at the sentiment. “That’s giving me too much credit. He asks questions, and I give opinions. Mostly when we are riding or at the forge. What he does with it is all him. I am not his council.”

“You are very much on his council,” Henry corrected, “even if he doesn’t shut you up in stuffy rooms with round tables and thick doors. He finds you invaluable. If you’re willing, I’d like to pick your brain on a few… let’s say minor issues I’ve been tasked with back home. Just to get a different look of things.”

“To get a common opinion,” Adam corrected right back, darker.

Henry, to his credit, looked stricken. “That’s not what I meant. Please—Adam, please, relax? This isn’t a test or trial, I promise.”

“We are not equals,” Adam ground out. He didn’t care for being ordered to relax. It usually did the opposite. He and Ronan had that in common.

“That’s fair. I won’t insult you by pretending we are, then. But acquaintances?”

Adam chewed this over. Henry didn’t say _friends_ , and that was a start. If he was pressed.

He nodded, rolling his hand to say, _acceptable._

Henry beamed, and really, it was a gross overreaction to what was essentially a lukewarm interaction at best.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Ronan spent a lot less time eating at breakfast than he would’ve liked. But food wasn’t important when there was a downright _spectacle_ happening around the table, and no one else seemed to see it.

Then again, it was not anyone else’s job to see things quite as he did, but the way Henry was… was _fawning_ over Adam, it was obvious. Polite still, reserved, but it was happening none the less. And Adam, that traitor, was _allowing it._

It didn’t make sense. Had he woken up in a universe just a step to the right of their own? With all the tramping over the ley lines they did, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Just yesterday Adam barely looked at Henry, and his lips often twisted down at the corners when he thought no one was looking. But here, now, as Henry poured him a little more juice and complimented his achievements as a self-made smith, Adam twisted his hands in his lap and glanced up through his lashes before offering a tentative smile. Shy. _Shy._ A little wide-eyed like he was when Gansey outdid himself with his atrocious charm.

Gansey, beside Ronan, should’ve looked confused or jealous or upset. But when Ronan glanced over to gauge his mood, all he got was that soppy sort of adoration that came from being surprised with a basket of kittens, or witnessing a small child offer an adult a flower.

Ronan didn’t know what the _fuck_ was going on, but he didn’t like.

He scowled, looking down the table. Orla caught his eye, irritatingly enough. She was smiling that ermine-like smile she had: sly, haughty, triumphant. She tapped the side of her nose, and Ronan pretended like he had no idea what that meant.

Something had _happened_ last night between Adam and Henry, and it was most noticeable in the way Henry heaped all his attention onto Adam. As if Adam was the prince he was hoping to reconnect with.

Ronan elbowed Gansey sharply, satisfied when Gansey choked and then coughed. “Doesn’t that bother you?” he hissed.

Gansey swung a baffled look at him. Ronan was glad, finally, he wasn’t the only one feeling it. “Whatever are you _talking_ about?”

“Adam and His Royal Hair,” Ronan said, jabbing his fork in their direction opposite them.

Gansey looked back. His lips quivered at the corners, tentatively hopeful like the sap he was. If they weren’t careful, soon he’d be sighing and plucking flower petals. “Yes, I noticed. Wonderful, isn’t it? That they’re getting along.”

Ronan grumbled; what they were doing looked like more than _getting along._ “Do you think Adam’s been put under a spell?” It was the wrong thing to say. Gansey looked a moment away from saying something stupid about spells of companionship.

“They must have talked,” Gansey said. “Sometime after the search yesterday.”

Ronan had been with Adam all afternoon, so he had no idea when that would’ve been. Or rather, he didn’t care to speculate when it could’ve been fit in. He stabbed at his breakfast instead, irritated enough that Her Majesty sent him a quelling look, her eyes hard and glittering. Ronan subsided.

 

Ronan escorted Gansey with Henry to the larger cabinet room on the top floor, situated near the back of the manor.

He made as if to follow Gansey inside, and frowned obediently when Gansey held him back and shook his head.

“We must have utmost privacy; these are delicate matters. I will be safe,” Gansey said. He patted Ronan’s cheek, so Ronan could frown deeper and yank his head away as if spurned. A sulking dog set outside to wait for the masters to return.

It was an easy routine, a well-worn facade, when Gansey needed him to do something more important and not rouse suspicion for it. Ronan waited until Gansey, Henry, and their Majesties vanished into the room beyond and shut the door, and then he relaxed his shoulders, expression smoothing out.

“Don’t worry, pet,” Orla cooed. Ronan flinched, forgetting she was there. “He’ll be back to take you for a walk soon.”

Ronan said nothing, because every word behind his tense lips were barbed, and while Orla had proven she could take it, Ronan didn’t have time for Orla’s banter. He had a job to do it. And besides, when Orla said _pet_ , it was less vitriolic than the soldiers in the barracks. It often matched the tone she used to called Helen ‘ _dragonfly_ _’_ when she thought no one could hear her.

“Gross,” Blue said with a groan. “Ugh, Orla, go be weird somewhere else. Don’t you have a boudoir to lounge in mournfully?”

Orla laughed, tossing her hair with dark nails, showing off the almost iridescent navy color of them that matched not only the dangling earrings, but Helen’s formal tunic and Vasilica’s scales all in one. “Perhaps. Go on, then. I’ll turn around so I don’t notice the four of you skulking off to get up to no good.”

Ronan looked to Adam who snapped his own look to Blue, her eyes widened.

Orla smirked, tapping her nose again. She turned pointedly, flaring her skirts as she did, and set off down the hall, slippers a soft whisper against the floor.

“Noah?” Blue asked. She reached her hand out to the empty air. She jumped almost immediately as the translucent shape of a hand curled in hers. It almost looked like a lady accepting the offer of a dance, or perhaps being helped down from a tall carriage, but instead it was a dead boy with a crushed cheek being pulled out of that shadowy space between life and death.

“Hullo, Blue,” he said softly. His other hand reached to pet her hair. “It’s good to see you. Thank you, for the assist.”

“Sure. Are you sticking around?”

“As much as I can.” Noah turned to Adam; a ghostly shift that never looked quite right. “If the magician permits it.”

Adam’s lips twisted into an uncomfortable frown, but did not say no.

Noah nodded back, accepting the truce for what it was. “I would like to help, if I can. You are searching for Barrington, correct? While the nobility is all in one spot.”

“That his name?” Ronan asked. “Why didn’t you say earlier?”

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t remember. But being here, being around Blue, reminded me.”

“You remember anything else?” Ronan asked. “Because we don’t even know what he looks like, let alone how to stop him.”

“We shouldn’t speak here,” Adam interrupted softly, lips barely moving as he peered down both ends of the hall. “It’s not secure.”

They ended up in Blue’s small rooms, safe to discuss their options and plans, and safe from nosy servants who might see one of them speaking to empty air. It was always uncertain who could see Noah or not, when he was manifested. It seemed to change from visit to visit, so it was better not to chance it.

Over all they didn’t have much to go on. Ronan and Adam had never seen Barrington; Adam only knew a thread of his magic felt like from what little bits had stuck to the cellar and been left behind; Blue knew only what the boys did; Noah only knew what Barrington looked like back when they were seventeen, and that was how Barrington appeared to him now.

“Is he in the cellar now?” Adam asked, jaw clenched as his patience wore thin.

Noah shook his head. “No. He is… I can’t tell, he is constantly moving, or perhaps that is what he wants me to think. I can’t follow him and report to you at the same time.”

“What are we supposed to do with him when we catch him?” Blue asked. “We should have a plan for that.”

Blue and her plans. Ronan was a fan of plain old maiming and dealing with it after the threat had been removed.

“We kill him,” Adam said, at the same time Noah said, “You destroy him.”

Druid and Ghost looked at each other, Noah surprised and Adam grudgingly respectful.

“Well, okay then,” Blue drawled, letting it stretch as she raised her eyebrows. But she didn’t disagree. She flipped her dagger idly: point, handle, point, handle--ad infinitum. 

“Gansey will want us to capture him,” Ronan said, “so he can go on trial and be punished for his crimes.” It was not a disagreement, either.

“I doubt anyone would be able to hold him,” Noah said. “He is very powerful. More so since he--since he--since he--” he repeated himself on a loop, mouth and eyes flickering like he was stuck.

Blue poked his ribs to get him to still.

“Killed you,” Ronan finished for him.

“Yes,” Noah whispered. “That.”

“We’ll stop him,” Ronan promised fiercely. “We just need to _find him_. We should split up.”

“Absolutely not,” Blue said. “That’s dangerous and never ends up working out well in the stories.”

“This isn’t a story,” Ronan said. Adam made an unconvinced noise.

There was a knock on the door, and then it creaked open, one of the serving girls sticking her head in. “Excuse my interruption, my lords, lady.”

Adam’s mouth thinned, and Ronan kicked him under the table.

“Lydia!” Blue said brightly. She sat up, putting her knife away and beckoning the girl closer. “What can we do for you?”

Lydia flushed, but entered the library and quickly crossed the room to stand at Blue’s side. “I did not know you’d be engaged, but the cook’s girl, she was pleased to hear you were accompanying the Prince, and sent refreshments to welcome you.” She turned back to the door and snapped her fingers and a page boy pushed a cart in. It bore a platter covered in a napkin, and when the napkin was drawn back revealed all manner of elaborate finger foods and decorated morsels. Fresh herbs and sugared flowers garnished tiny puffed pastries and tarts filled with custards and pieces of meats expertly cut into the shapes of stars and flowers.

“Gods above,” Ronan muttered. He sat back in his chair, balancing it on the back legs and propped his boots up on the table beside the platter.

Blue kicked his chair and smirked as his flailing and over-correcting made Lydia stifle a giggle.

Lydia slapped both hands over her mouth. “Forgive me, Lord Ronan!”

Blue snagged an arm around Lydia’s waist and pulled her down to sit on the arm of her chair. “You pay him no mind, _I_ thought it was funny.”

Lydia, Ronan noted with a scowl, _blushed_ , eyelashes fluttering as pretty as Gansey’s did when he was charmed. He scoffed and leaned forward to pick at the food, if Blue was going to be so rude. It was almost admirable.

“Now, Lydia, why don’t you tell me what’s all been going on. Bet all the staff is in a tizzy about the guests.”

Lydia brightened and told Blue _everything._

Ronan only half listened, keeping his ears open for the important tidbits and gave Lydia a curt nod when he caught her eye next. She knew _a lot_ , about the schedules of the staff and the nobility. Knew where everyone was supposed to be when and how every meeting and meal was supposed to proceed. It was smart, he was pained to admit, what Blue was doing.

By the end of it, Blue had drawn in _four_ more serving girls. They sat and perched around her like a personified Goddess of the Hunt, eyes shining and cheeks pink.

Ronan pushed the platter to Adam; that boy needed to eat more.

“You’ll come see us after dinner?” one of the girls asked. Ronan wasn’t sure which, he couldn’t be bothered to keep track of all their names.

“Yes, perhaps you’ll pull cards for us?” another begged, leaning… way over Blue. Blue’s eyes darted down, held, and drew up slowly with an equally slow smile.

“You girls know I’m not psychic.”

“No, but you come from so many! Tarot is a tool for those with magic and without, that’s what you said last time.”

“So I did.” Blue thinks, reaches to brush her fingers along the girl’s jaw. “Maybe I will then. Since you find it so entertaining.”

Blue’s room was filled with the tittering laughter of breathless girls and Ronan could stand no more of it. “Don’t you girls have important duties to do?”

“They’re _ladies,_ _”_ Blue corrected scornfully, causing all of them in question to flutter and blush.

Ronan rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up.

“But maybe he’s right,” Blue said. She turned to Tabitha, perched on the edge of her knee, Blue’s legs splayed wide to make room. “I’d hate to get you all in trouble. You should get back to work, so we can as well. Thank you for the distraction, it was very appreciated.”

Melana giggled and got up first, pulling Vivian up with her. Blue waved them out, and then leaned up to whisper something in Lydia’s ear.

Ronan couldn’t hear what, and he expected another round of flagrant fawning, but Lydia’s expression composed itself into something serious and considering. She nodded, murmured something back, and when she stood Ronan caught the flash of paper from Blue’s hand to Lydia’s. Good, some real work was getting done as well. 

 

~*~

 

They didn’t find as much as they’d like, but they had something to go off of by the time they found Gansey and the others leaving the council chambers. Ronan eyes flicked down to catch the barest brush of Henry’s fingers across the back of Gansey’s hand. But Gansey didn’t look pleased by this as he would’ve the day before. He frowned, sighed, and came up along Ronan’s side and said, “Let’s go riding.”

“Helen will put up a fuss.”

“Perhaps,” Gansey said, no inflection beyond the slight tinge of defeat.

So, they went riding.

 

Ronan knew he wouldn’t have to ask, so let Gansey stew.

Adam was always uncertain of the balance between them, and thus never involved himself with court affairs. So, he let Gansey stew and chewed on his own lip to distract himself from wanting to ask.

It was Blue, who asked, as it always was, because she didn’t have time for the way her boys often tiptoed sensitively around each other. “How goes the negotiations?”

“Very well,” Gansey said, so stiff that Ronan snorted.

“Care to answer that again?” he asked.

Gansey cut him an aggrieved look. “Promising outcomes are not always… favorable. They—the Chengs are not insulted by the change in plans—”

Adam’s head reared back almost alike a horse, eyes wide. Ronan gave him the decency of pretending not to notice, though a person would have to be unconscious (or Gansey) to miss it.

“—they’re really quite understanding. But this does complicate things—the alliance. They still want one, but things must be different now that I’m taking the throne.”

“You are,” Ronan asked, flat enough it was no longer a question, but a sneered accusation.

“There’s no other choice,” Gansey said softly. “That’s all there is.”

“What about Glendower?” Adam interrupted. “What about your quest and your favor and…” He stumbled for words, hands tight on his horse’s reins.

Gansey looked at him, for once quiet when he never had a lack of pretty things to say. There were a hundred things unsaid between them in that silence, and Ronan tore his eyes away.

Blue caught his gaze before it could go far. Somehow there were just as many things passed between them, but of a completely different caliber. Ronan straightened his shoulders pointedly, jutting his chin up, and smirked when Blue mirrored him. Two different kinds of people, but they would both guard Gansey with their life, no matter what was laid out before them.

Occasionally a shadow passed over head, small enough it could’ve been a low flying bird, but Ronan could tell the shape of Vasilica, even that high among the clouds. Unobtrusive, but keeping an eye on them all the same. It should make Ronan peeved, to have his abilities called into question and be hovered over (quite literally) as if a simpering child. But they had too many threats to bother to be irritated.

“How much time do we have,” Ronan asked. So much time had passed that Gansey frowned at him for too long as he tried to put a time frame on the half dozen things they had to deal with these days.

“I’m sorry, Ro, you’re being as cryptic as ever,” Gansey said. He nudged his horse so Pig swerved into Bea, smiling when it made Ronan scowl. Boyish actions to show they were still the same they’d always been, and to break the tension that had been growing over and between each other since Helen’s abdication. Like shrouds of responsibility that drifted over them all, masking their childish antics and attempting to make them strangers for the sake of duty. But that couldn’t happen—it _wouldn_ _’t._ Not with them. No matter what.

“To wake a dead king,” Ronan said. “How much time, before you have to wear your father’s shoes.” _Your sister_ _’s crown_ , he didn’t say, but was clear anyway in the way Gansey smiled sadly at him.

“Until we leave here. Until we come to a pleasing agreement with the Chengs on both sides.”

Adam cut a sharp look to Gansey, pulling his horse up short. “That’s not a lot of time.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gansey said softly. He stopped Pig, turning her to face them all, the sun glinting off his simple chain-mail and the modest circlet nestled in his brown hair. He was glorious, beautiful in his divine right, looking fit to rule any kingdom. But there was a hollowness to his face—under his eyes and at his cheekbones—that made him look… more than gaunt. Like something Other. A little like Noah, now that Ronan thought about it. A walking omen; one of the shadowy figures in Orla’s tarot deck.

“Less so,” Gansey continued, quiet and hoarse as a breeze through skeleton branches; as if he’d been crying for hours, even just inside himself. "Now that I’ve called the engagement off.”

No one said a thing for a long handful of moments, the three of them staring at Gansey. He looked back, swallowed thick as he glanced down and then forced himself to look up, snapping his shoulders straight. “Don’t look like that, I thought you’d all be thrilled.” Here he looked at Ronan, because it was true, but it seemed more like he was only doing it so he _wouldn_ _’t_ look at Adam, his gaze far too focused for it to be anything else.

“Dick,” Blue started, meaningful, but what it meant was left a mystery as it trailed off. “We just want what’s best for you. Whether that was—”

“It’s quite alright,” Gansey whispered, waving his hand through the air sharply to cut her off. “It’s done. It’s not right for either of us right now. We’ve both kingdoms to think of. Now, if it suits you all, I’d like to focus on Glendower. He’s so close, I can feel it, and I… I need to find him.”

 Ronan nodded, pulling on Bea’s reigns and pulling him up into a rear to turn tighter for a new direction. Gansey needed to focus on something he could control and _win._ Gansey needed this for himself, when so little going forward would be allowed for himself. Ronan would give him that. Would give him any and all of it.

“Parrish,” Ronan barked. “Think you can find the ley line from here? Follow it down?”

Adam set his chin and nodded sharply. “I’m a bit rusty, but I can do it.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they glowed a rich green all the way through, like his eyes had been replaced by spheres of malachite.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Distractions were good. Gansey was adept at focusing on important and mystical quests that served a higher purpose, rather than his own tragedies. One could only wallow for so long, after all, and it didn’t tend to accomplish anything. 

Proactive tendencies didn’t keep him from lying awake at night worrying, worrying, worrying, and whittling endlessly at wood blocks until he had nearly an entire magical host of creatures and trees and his friends as things other than they were. But that was at night, when no one else had to be bothered with it. That was Gansey’s penance, and that was okay. 

At least, he thought he was keeping it to himself. He wasn’t sure if it was a failing or a comfort, that his friends knew him better. Ronan, who had problems sleeping on his own, ended up sitting on the floor between him the flickering hearth and entertaining Guillotine. Blue slipped into his suit without knocking long after the staff stopped moving quietly out in the halls, bearing a platter laden with finger foods and also a collection of dark marks just at the edge of where her tunic came up around her neck.  

With her came Noah, lounging across his still made and unused bed, as if remembering what decadence and privilege used to feel like; as if taking it in in a way he hadn’t when he still lived. 

It was nice, he supposed, even if he was supposed to be wallowing alone. Company, even of the silent sort to let him continue to think uninterrupted, was something he never felt comfortable asking for. 

Blue helped herself to Gansey’s bed, and he could tell when she fell asleep because Noah flickered and vanished. Ronan’s mouth pinched at it, and got up to go walk a round of patrol. He was much softer than most people realized, but that was by design, and it was often hidden deep where no one was allowed to see it. Save for Gansey. It eased his nerves, now, to have this glimpse of familiarity. 

He fell back into his routine of carefully carving, scraping, with the knife, and breathed easier with each curl of wood that appeared and fluttered to the floor. He kept on, forgetting to time Ronan, forgetting about Blue, forgetting about how Henry was just down the hall and he was no longer allowed to think of him fondly when he’d relinquished any sort of claim. 

He forgot about everything, not even noticing when the fire burned down and the low light caused him to hunch over his work to see. 

And then there were hands, scarred and strong and solid, hands made for work, gently taking the knife from Gansey’s slackening grip. 

Adam allowed his hands to brush back Gansey’s hair, plucking the circlet from his head carefully and setting it on the mantle. 

Gansey exhaled in something of relief and yet breathless want, because it was only ever in quiet moments of night like this that Adam touched him so easily. Maybe it was just that these were the moments where Gansey forgot his poise and his persona and forgot to take care of himself; maybe it was that his station was easier for Adam to ignore when they were alone and not even the sun was awake to witness them. 

“I didn’t realize how late it was,” Gansey mumbled, careful of Blue slumbering near-by. 

“You never do,” Adam said, but there was amusement and fondness there in his tone as long as Gansey didn’t raise his head looking for it. 

“Sit with me?”

Adam hesitated, glancing at the floor with distaste and then the other chair angled on the other side of the fireplace. 

“No, here?” Gansey plucked at Adam’s hip, offering the very available and wide arm of his own chair. 

Here again Adam hesitated. “I… No one should sit above royalty.”

“I am just Gansey, right now.” When he pulled again, Adam sat. He was warm and smelled like clean hay and the rougher soap he used for his work clothes. He didn’t seem to breathe for a very long moment. 

Gansey sat completely still while he didn’t.

He was rewarded because Adam twisted to press their legs together and lean into Gansey’s space. “I really shouldn’t,” Adam whispered. 

Gansey’s eyes closed all on their own, exhausting and _want_ making them heavy. “I wish you would.”

“You can’t always get what you want,” Adam shot back, barbed, but not all that heated when they had this discussion quite frequently. Gansey wondered how many times they were going to have these exchanges; how many of their exchanges were repeated verbatim and if they would always have them or if they were their own language itself, saying something a little different each time in the delivery. 

“I know,” Gansey whispered back. 

“You can’t just _ask_ and expect to get everything.” Untrue, when Gansey was a prince; true, when it came to the one thing Gansey wasn’t allowed to ask for because Adam was more than something to be decreed. 

“I know. I often don’t, I only… I only ask for things I know I can have.” 

Adam hissed in through his teeth. He relaxed, infinitesimally. “I… I know.” His fingers grazed across the back of Gansey’s neck so lightly Gansey wouldn’t know he’d done it if it weren’t for the absolutely _devastating_ ache in his wildly beating heart. 

Adam had not touched him like this— _at all_ —since Henry had arrived, and something in Gansey shrank and withered to realize he’d had to choose. Whether he’d known at the time or not. He wasn’t sure if he’d made the right choice; he wasn’t sure he could be upset by the choice he’d made, because it wasn’t just about him. It was about his family and his kingdom and his… his betrothed and his Adam. 

It wasn’t fair. 

It was the first time he’d let himself to truly think the sentiment, since Helen had returned from her quest with grand ideas about how she was going to live the rest of her life. 

It was selfish and mean of him, but here in the dim light and just Adam beside him, he wondered if he was not allowed a moment of weakness, of selfishness. Surely Adam, who denied himself so much and worked so hard and spat in the face of tradition, would not begrudge him a moment of selfishness. 

“It’s not fair,” he whispered, trying out the words as he spoke them. 

Adam stiffened, and then relaxed again. He brushed his thumb along the back of Gansey’s neck and lean in to brush an even lighter kiss against Gansey’s forehead. “No, it’s not. Life rarely is. At least you have the power to do something about it.” An allowance, but also a gentle reprimand. How diplomatic; how Adam. 

“Perhaps.” It wasn’t as simple as that, but it bared considering all the same. “May I have my whittling back?” He wanted to stop thinking again, and he wasn’t sure Adam would allow himself to be a distraction like that. 

Adam hummed. He turned the piece Gansey had been working on. “This is good. Another tree for your forest?” 

“Yes, though I’ve prematurely pruned it.” The figure of a skeleton tree was indeed missing a very obvious branch and it made him frown to see the obvious sign of his own mistake, his own inability that leered like something more. 

“Maybe you can put a hollow in its place,” Adam offered, as he offered the tree and knife back. “A home for some poor creature I’m sure you’re going to bring into your little world.”

Gansey smiled privately, forgetting earlier upset at how fond Adam made him. “Perhaps. Clever Adam, always looking out for those less fortunate.” 

Adam shifted, uncomfortable, but didn’t move. He watched quietly as Gansey made a few more cuts, sanded away a little more here and there. 

His fingers, tired and clumsy, slid along the wrong grain and bit into the wood before his finger next. 

Gansey hissed sharp, biting back a curse and flinching his hand away. “P-perhaps you’d been right, to take it from me.”

Adam clucked his tongue, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket quickly and taking the knife from Gansey’s fingers, placing it a safe distance away on the side table, and then the tree next to keep it from dropping and getting further damaged. He held the handkerchief to the cut, fingers gentle but firm, and Gansey couldn’t even feel the sting when the low light illuminated the elegant stitching of his own initials into the corner of the fine cloth. 

“Is that—”

Adam squeezed a little tighter on the wound to hush him. But he was only quiet for another minute before admitting, “remember when you first brought Pig in? Years ago, and I wouldn’t shake your hand?”

Something inexorable and bright grew in Gansey’s chest. “And I gave you my handkerchief because you were worried about—”

“—tarnishing your delicate hands, when you were so polished and fine.”

It was not how Gansey was going to finish that sentence, and he felt like he should be offended at being referred to as such when it could be taken as derogatory. But all he could focus on was how affectionately Adam said it.

“You kept it. All this time.”

“Of course I did. It was too fine of cloth to waste. Took too much effort to get the stains out though,” almost a tease. “Silk is ineffective for common grime.” 

Gansey huffed a laugh, surprised and touched and disbelieving. He hadn’t even thought of the handkerchief after that, but it’d been years and Adam still had it on him. 

“You show your hand,” he teased right back, too soft and too conflicted by how much it hurt.

“And you’ve cut yours.”

Gansey laughed again, a little more free, and was rewarded with a slight twist at the corner of Adam’s lips. 

Adam pulled the cloth away, leaning them both towards the fire to inspect the wound. “Shallow. I think you’ll live.”

“Well that’s good,” Gansey said breezily. “How embarrassing otherwise.” He moved to use Adam’s hold on him to hold his hand back, twisting their fingers together indulgent and illicit. But flinched again and nearly bit his tongue as he pulled away. When he looked closer, there was a splinter pushed deep into the meat of his thumb. “Thwarted yet again,” he said, regretful. 

He picked at the splinter, but only managed to push it deeper, frustration exacerbated by his fatigue and how the world seemed to be conspiring against him having anything affectionate with Adam. 

“Here,” Adam offered, and picked his hand up to deal with it himself. But his nails were cut short and blunt to not get in the way of his work, and didn’t fair much better. 

“Leave it,” Gansey said with a sigh. “Ronan should return soon, and he’s quite good with his knives. He’ll get it out.”

“You shouldn’t h’ve to hurt y’rself further to justify fixing it,” Adam said, and Gansey paused because it was more snappish than such a situation warranted. This was one of those times, he realized, where they were talking about too many things at once, and Gansey was constantly struggling to keep up. “You can—you can be kinder to yourself,” Adam added, quiet and strained. “I’ll be the first to point out your privilege, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to suffer to balance it.”

Gansey frowned. “I didn’t think—” and then promptly choked on the rest of it because Adam lifted his hand to his mouth and gently brought his lips up to the splinter. Unerringly, Adam held his gaze, and Gansey breathlessly wished he spoke even one of the many languages Adam used to try to communicate with him. 

Adam’s mouth was warm and his tongue wet where it carefully prodded at the splinter, and then sucked Gansey’s skin in harder, teeth dragging slow.

When Adam pulled back his lips were shiny and damp; parted slight around his teeth clenched. Gansey wasn’t sure if it was the dying fire that made Adam’s cheeks look flushed. 

He reached with his free hand, insistent until Adam let him pluck the splinter from between his teeth. “Be gentler with yourself,” he parroted, hushed and awed and utterly ruined. 

Adam said nothing but to lean in to press a kiss to Gansey’s fingers still pinched and hovering. 

The door banged open and Gansey jumped as Adam jolted back and away. Gansey missed him immediately and deeply.

“I found the necromancer,” Ronan snapped. “Or rather, where he’d been. Noah helped, he was—” and then stopped looking between the two of them and his expression shifting. “What’ve you two been up to?”

Adam opened his mouth but all that came was a croak. He looked very dizzy, suddenly, and Gansey worried at that familiar flash of regret in his eyes. 

“Nothing, just cut myself whittling.” And then, all the blood rush from his face down to pool in his feet, feeling as dizzy as Adam looked. “Noah?” The floor tilted under him—no, that was just him.

Ronan’s face twisted in a grimace that was too regretful to be called one. He swayed, hesitating in entering the room and shooting Adam a pleading look. But Adam was lost in his own thoughts, lost in memory clashing with thoughts trying to catch up to now. 

“Noah,” Gansey gasped, quiet and devastated. And then too loud and cracking, jumping out of him, “We sent him on! He was at peace! It was the _least_ we could do and he’s—”

“Wha—?” Blue started, jolting upright and then leaning over a plush pillow as she hurried to rub sleep out of her eyes. 

Gansey’s flash of upset crumpled into something worse, staring down at his hands. Noah was… Ronan had… “You lied to me,” he whispered. “You all _lied_ to me?” He stood abruptly, not thinking as he pushed away a reaching hand. He didn’t know who it belonged to (except that he did, because Blue would still be on the bed processing, and Ronan in the frame of the door, cowed like a dog caught at something.)

Ronan _never_ lied. He hated it. It made him so deeply unhappy and yet here he’d let Gansey believe whatever lie Blue had fed him after it was all done; maybe it was Adam’s lie ( _not Adam, no_ ,) or one of the Fox Women. Someone had lied and everyone else let him believe it, which was almost worse. 

His vision swam at the edges and he took a step back to steady himself. “Noah’s still here. Because of me. Everything we did to cleanse him and send him on and he’s _still here!”_

No one said a word, and somehow that angered more than any justification they might’ve tried to feed him. 

He swung his arm out unthinking to dash an empty cup off the table. He only realized what he’d done when Adam flinched badly. Remorse replaced the anger immediately. 

“Forgive me,” he hastened to say, moving clumsy to retrieve it from the corner and right it properly. “I forgot myself.” Forgot Adam’s sensitivities, forgot his own carefully set rules to not upset Adam in this way; forgot that now as crowned prince, he had a certain set of rules and decorum to follow; a certain way to act. He wasn’t a child anymore, wasn’t a simple prince. He couldn’t just have tantrums, even in private, because, as his father said: bad behavior became a habit that could always spill over. 

Adam merely grunted, but he didn’t reach for him again. Something in Gansey shriveled and died. Everything was falling apart. He was losing everything. It was as if the whole face of the world was slowly tipping on its side, like grains of sand in a time-turner, and all he could do was watch it happen and slip down the slope. 

He couldn’t follow the thought any further, as the air was growing colder. Enough to raise the fine hairs on his arms. He glanced to the windows, but they were still shut and bolted tightly, and Blue still on the bed. 

A couple candles flickered—

—went out—

—flared bright and tall.

He turned in time to see Noah flicker like a specter beside the fireplace. Well… more spectral than he’d been the last time Gansey had seen him, nearly a year ago. But here he was again, wane and misty, pale skin so bloodless it flickered as if greedily suck up the heat from the hearth. 

When Gansey found his voice enough to manage, “Oh, Noah,” he was embarrassed to realize there were tears with it. Somehow he didn’t think they only belonged to him, but maybe Noah as well, who’s eyes were as bright and wet as ever. 

The bruise on Noah’s cheek was worse this time around: a cavernous hole wide and jagged, edges sparkling with rot and frostbite. Noah’s smile was just as hollow. 

“I didn’t know,” Gansey rasped, taking a step closer. “I had no idea, I would’ve—”

“I know,” Noah sighed. “I hurt you, the last time. And I promised, not to see you. It was better this way.”

Gansey shook his head, but there was nothing to say. 

“Later?” Noah said softly. “I’ll tell you everything later. But right now… Gansey, you’re in danger.” 

Ronan cleared his throat, propelling himself off the door and into the room. Gansey would be hard pressed to miss how eager he was to move on, and not just because of the perceived trouble he was in. “The necromancer. Barrington. He’s been posing as a servant. That’s why we haven’t noticed him. He’s been hiding in plain sight. Parrish, the day at the cellars—“

“He’d been the one we asked for a key,” Adam finished in sudden understanding. All vulnerability had been wiped from his face, leaving determination and focused distraction in its place. “That’s how he’d stayed ahead of us.”

“He’s keeping watch on us in turn,” Ronan spit, pacing angry and restless across the room. He grabbed up clothes and cloaks and boots to throw at the rest of them. “Parrish, I think he knows what you’ve been doing, he had a map like yours, with the ley lines.”

“Not quite,” Adam admitted, quietly. He looked at Gansey, searching and apologetic. “There’s another line, I’ve been following it alone. I didn’t want to show you, until I was sure.”

Gansey frowned, forehead pinching, hurt that Adam would keep another secret from him. First Noah, and now this? When it was _everything_ to him? “But… why? We’re so close, Adam, you know how important this is—”

“It crosses directly through the glade.”

Gansey froze, for a moment his ears filled with a steadily growing buzzing that haunted his nightmares and other moments of weakness.  

The world tilted a little farther, his feet losing purchase. 

“See?” Adam whispered. “I had to be sure.” 

“And are you?” 

Adam swallowed, looking quick between Gansey-to-Blue-to-Gansey-to-Ronan-to-Gansey. “Yes.” 

Something complicated and terrible churned in Gansey’s stomach, to think of Adam in that forsaken place. That Adam had followed the path all the way into the heart of the place that had almost stolen Gansey’s. 

“Where’s Barrington now?” Blue asked. She rolled off the bed and hopped in place as she pulled her boots on, sliding knives down into the sheaths built inside. 

“We scared him off,” Ronan admitted, mouth pinched. “He’s probably out there looking for Glendower himself. Why bother trying to take down Gansey when he can go directly to another source of power? Time is short and we’re both closing in.”

“He can’t find Glendower,” Gansey said. He hated how desperate he sounded in his own ears, like a child. “He can’t—”

“He can’t get his hands on _you_ , either,” Ronan barked. “With or without Glendower he’s going to be trying to get to you, and I won’t let that happen.”

Gansey wrung his hands fitfully. “So we just have to cut him off, or… or…”

“We find Glendower first,” Blue said. “We get you to Glendower, _now_ , and deal with Barrington whenever he shows his slimy face.” 

 

~*~

 

They were saddling up their horses by lantern light when the sound of footsteps scraped across the stable floor. Ronan and Blue turned as one, shoulders rigid, knives in both their hands and Ronan’s arm arched back in preparation to throw.

But it was only Henry, looking alarmed at the show of defense, hands out. “Stand down!”

“What are you doing down here?” Blue asked. Her eyes dipped over his outfit: clearly dressed for riding with sturdy boots, tight jacket, and a leather wrap around his hips not unlike a skirt for extra protection. 

Gansey found himself looking for several blinks too long, despite everything, because Henry always looked better than was fair. 

“Go back to bed,” Ronan ordered. “This isn’t anything you need to concern yourself with.” 

Henry looked over them all and how they were suited up in bits of light armor and weapons, Adam’s pack bulging with picks and spikes and rope. His gaze fell on Adam to stay, asking something maybe they shouldn’t be talking about. “But… I’d like to help. I want to help.”

Adam chewed on his bottom lip, rolling it under his tongue and watching Henry in return. 

In the space of silence Henry hurried over and took Gansey’s hand in his. “Please? I still… I still want the best for you, for us both. Let me help? I’m already here, might as well, yes?” 

“You any good with a sword?” Ronan asked, sharp. But his eyes were narrowed in consideration all the same.

Henry’s lip curled in distaste. “Only as much as is required of me.”

Ronan scoffed, disgusted in turn. He turned back to Bea to finish securing his pack. “Go back to your soft bed.” 

“It still might be helpful to have one more person,” Blue hedged. She pulled herself up onto her pony, glancing at Adam. “If something goes wrong… we can send Henry for Helen.”

Gansey hated to think of relying on Helen to save him from anything; hated the idea of her being right in any capacity when he was still upset with her. But he couldn't deny that Blue had a good point. 

“Alright,” he said.

“What?” Ronan snapped, as Adam said, “No.” 

Gansey whirled on them, frowning. “I said _okay._ If… If I’m to die today, I can have whoever I want bear witness.”

Adam glared, but snapped his mouth shut and finished with his saddle. 

“Five minutes,” Ronan ordered. “We leave with or without you.”

It only took Henry four, and when they all burst through the stable’s double doors into the countryside, his horse kept up with even Bea as Ronan lead the charge. 

Out in the distance, beyond the silhouette of the mountains, the horizon was turning soft shades of lilac and pink. It struck Gansey’s heartstrings, lovely and bittersweet. It might very well be the last sunrise he’d ever see.  At least there was no one else he’d rather be seeing it with.  

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Ronan led, but the path was as familiar to Gansey as his own hallways back home. It didn’t matter that it had been years. It didn’t matter that the sun was only barely rising and setting the valley in a wash of soft, otherworldly colors that made the whole expanse look like something out of one of Gansey’s gilded fairytales. It felt Other and Enticing and Dangerous, and for the first time in too long Gansey felt like this was where he was supposed to be. 

It didn’t stop his heart from racing or his nerves fraying, the closer they got to the tree line and the forest beyond. It didn’t stop his memories from resurfacing where he always tried to keep them locked up tight. It didn’t stop his hands from clenching tight on the reins and making Pig slow and kick nervously. 

Adam rode closer and reached to cover his hand, tugging gentle at his wrist. 

Gansey flashed him a grateful smile, and readjusted his grip, even if his hands now shook. 

He had to keep going. He couldn’t stop now. There wasn’t any more _time._

They broke through the trees just as the sun broke over the hills, and something deep thrummed through Gansey. He glanced over at Adam to find him looking back, nodding that he felt it too.

Wordlessly their horses all fell into line, a staggered single file following the same path: the ley line buried deep within the earth. 

Gansey could hear it, and it was _terrifying._ Or rather, it was like he was hearing it with his heart, a deep and low surge of energy that drew him along like a kinetic force. It was only the ley line dragging him along, it was only Adam and Blue bracketing him in the middle, it was only the fear of being locked into the kingdom, that kept him racing forward into what could only be fatal danger. 

The Glade was exactly how he remembered it. But it was bigger too. As if the energy there had eaten away at the trees and shrubs, pushing them back to widen the space into a perfect circle ringed in a thicket. One way in, one way out. But nothing else had been touched, and Gansey felt, wildly, he’d left some part of himself here, all those years ago. 

It gripped Gansey’s heart, his throat, his lungs, and stole all his breath. He could hear the buzzing and the vibrations of wings and his own screaming, even as his jaw was locked tight. 

How terribly poetic, that things had started here in their own way, and here again he was, after all this time, to end things. 

He wondered if he was coming to an end, as well. 

Branches rustled; an echoing shriek split the air and shook birds from the trees. They all pulled to a stop. Gansey’s breath caught in his throat like mud, because there he was, stopped over the middle of the Glade, right where it had happened. 

He gasped, trying to breathe, trying to speak, but nothing came but a whimper. His vision dimmed fuzzy.

Three heads whipped around to look at him in alarm. Except for Ronan, who glared at the tree that had rustled, poised with a sword and Bea prancing in place and _ready_. 

Gansey met Henry’s wide eyes, but it was Adam’s hand that wrapped tight around his bicep. All at once something warm and bright burned through him, pushing through cobwebs and netted wings and the darkness that sometimes threatened to suffocate him. 

“Adam,” he gasped, suddenly able to breathe, able to shudder out a word. When he looked, Adam’s eyes were green again, glowing bright and trails of ink leaking out into the wrinkled skin at his temples. It was Adam’s magic, Gansey realized, that had reached into his chest where a small seven-year-old boy still laid curled up tight and afraid, and brushed back all the shadows. 

“You’ll be alright,” Adam whispered, hoarse. “We’ll make sure of it. Won’t let nothin’ happen to you. You don’t have to be scared anymore.” 

Gansey sobbed out something close to a laugh, but it shriveled in his throat when he glanced to Henry and saw the regret in his crestfallen expression. 

The trees rustled again. A man in a dark cloak strode out, thin face twisted in a sneer under a hood and runes glowing purple up the backs of his hands. 

“There’s the bastard,” Ronan growled. He tugged on Bea’s reins, tugging him around in better position between Barrington and the rest of them. He dropped them to pull out a shorter dagger and whistle three sharp, descending notes. Bea’s ears pricked, moving fluidly where Ronan’s knees directed, and didn’t startle when Guillotine screamed as she dove out of the sky to rip at Barrington’s hood. The tear of the fabric was audible and crass even from across the glade. 

Guillotine wheeled through the air and came to perch on Ronan’s shoulder. He looked treacherous like that, sharp and foreboding like an omen of death. Gansey had never been more in love with him.                 

“Just as I expected,” Barrington called. He clenched one fist as he stepped forward. The earth beneath them shook. “It’s been a long time, little princeling.”

Gansey swallowed, pulling tighter at Pig’s reins, loosening only when Pig threw her head. 

“Don’t you even look at him,” Ronan snarled. Bea moved them both in front of Gansey, blocking him completely without having to be told.

Barrington didn’t even seem to notice, his cold eyes trained on Gansey. They bore into him, even as Gansey tried to keep his chin up, tried to keep himself still. “You got in the way, last time. It’s high time you paid the price for it.”

Gansey didn’t bother correcting he hadn’t meant to interrupt Barrington’s terrible ritual, mostly because he wasn’t sorry about it. 

“And it’s time to release the ley line. It’s going to be _mine.”_

Gansey furrowed his eyebrows. He cut a glance to Adam, but Adam had no answer for him, only a puzzled expression of his own. But now he was _watching_ Gansey, not with his eyes, but something deeper as the glow of his magic pulsed where his eyes normally were.

Barrington laughed, once and without humor. “Oh. Oh ho. You didn’t know. How quaint. No matter, I’ll rip it out of you if I must.” He tightened his other fist, raising it, and the ground shook once more. Small cracks opened up through the grass, though they never quite reached the rest of them. Clouds darkened overhead. 

“The ley line. How did I never--” Adam raised a hand to drag the tip of his index finger from Gansey’s torso up the line of his sternum, ending at his throat. Gansey wasn’t sure if it was magic or something else that _zinged_ across his skin and made it impossible to move or look away. “It’s in you. Here.” 

Foolishly, Gansey wondered if that was why they seemed to always gravitate together: Gansey, harboring the source of Adam’s magical draw. How romantic. 

“Look sharp!” Blue shouted. 

Gansey snapped out of it, and drew his sword without thinking. This was their chance, and if they ever hoped to make it to Glendower, they’d need to take him down now. Barrington was strong, he could see that already. It might take all five of them. 

Ronan turned in his saddle, looking between them all, and landed on Adam. “You ready?” He held out his hand.

Adam nodded without pause, reaching back to gasp Ronan’s wrist as Ronan did the same. “I’m with you. Every part of me.”

Ronan nodded, pleased. His expression hardened, sharp as his own sword. And then ordered, “Blue, go!” 

Gansey faltered. It didn’t make sense. Blue’s pony jumped to it and herded Pig into moving, and he could only look at Ronan. Blue and Ronan. They’d planned something behind his back, had a strategy without him, had a look shared between them that said everything he couldn’t parse.

“What? No, what are you doing-- _Pignus,_ go _back.”_

Adam shot Henry an appraising look. “You’ll keep him safe for me? For… for us?” 

Henry’s eyes widened. He pressed a fist over his heart. “With everything I have. I promise. Just make sure you stay alive.”

Adam managed a laugh. “I’ll do my best. Help our prince find his king.”

Beyond the concern, Henry grinned brightly. 

“No!” Barrington screamed. The glade shook harder. 

Blue and Henry flanked Gansey to push him on, racing down the ley line and into the trees once more. 

 

 

Adam allowed himself only a short glance to watch Gansey disappear, memorizing the breadth of his shoulders and the shine of his hair. Just in case. As he raced into the rising sun and the trees, Adam thought Gansey looked very much the part of the king he was supposed to be. 

“You sure about this?” Ronan called to Adam, over the roar of the ground quaking. 

“Sure as life,” Adam answered. He was shaking himself slightly, with the concentration needed to keep his long-sleeping magic in check. It teamed up inside him, furious and hungry, and Adam could barely breathe around the need to let it all out. 

The energy was spooking his horse. He dismounted and set it loose. It was all too happy to gallop off into the woods.  

Vines and branches grew and twisted up his legs as soon as his boots hit the ground, at odds with the way Barrington seemed to command it. They cried out to Adam, barraging his thoughts with pleas and offers of help and devotion.

It wasn’t the earth Barrington commanded, Adam realized, but the graves beneath it. He’d only been here a few times, scouting. But the place had felt Wrong and Too Much, the energy trapped in the space trying to drag his own out, so he’d never stayed long. But now that he was here he could feel the darkness that laid beneath, the ones who’d been felled to feed the ley line. 

They surged up now, bones and grasping hands; nightmarish men in bits of armor, but also bones protruding off shoulders like spikes and wings, elbows too long and too sharp, legs bending in too many places with too many joints. 

Bea reared, unafraid, and Ronan rode him forward at a charge, trampling one before it’d even fully stood. He cut down another one, kicking at a third. It was a brutal display of unconcerned violence. And it was all for Adam. A reassurance, a promise, and a path cut open to Barrington himself 

Adam breathed, tried to calm his nerves and his magic in equal measure, but neither would listen. His blood pounded in his ears and his heart raced; energy thrummed in his chest so heavy he felt dizzy. Felt, more, not like himself. Maybe a self just parallel. He didn’t bother trying to think anymore, just reached and drew everything out, let the magic take over, and moved where it wanted. Moderation and control were often hard won when it came to this, and something he worked tirelessly at when he had the space to do so. 

Today was not a day for either. 

The ground shook again, but not for the necromancer. The grass turned greener and taller, roots dragged themselves out of the earth and reared up like snakes about to strike. Between Adam’s feet vines grew and lashed, studded with thick thorns and reaching for Barrington. 

Barrington swished his hand through the air, knocking the first two aside, but the one coming in quick just behind got itself around his thigh and _pulled._  

It seemed that everything slowed. Barrington stumbled. Blood appeared between the wrapping vine. Bea came down hard on a monster. Adam tasted blood in his mouth. Barrington slashed through the vine with a curved dagger and looked up at him with fury in his violet eyes. 

And then everything happened very, very fast. 

Adam threw out thorned whips as fast as he could, but Barrington brushed most of them aside with arcane magic that manifested in living shadows. Thin cuts opened along Barrington’s skin, but all were superficial and shallow. Barrington retaliated with crackling purple bolts that followed Adam even when he ducked, and one clipped his shoulder and sent him tumbling. 

Ronan shouted and fought harder, cutting swaths through the undead, keeping them back by force when they surged after Adam. 

Adam scrambled up, panting, hands cramping, focus torn in so many directions he could hardly keep track of it all: keep the ground from splitting farther, keep an aura of magic around Ronan to slow his opponents, keep an aura around himself to deflect the worst of Barrington’s magic, call to the trees to have their roots rise up to drag the undead down. 

He was not a man in this moment, but an extension of magic and it was an exertion he’d forgotten how taxing and maddening could be. In the very back of his mind he feared the notion that going this far… he might not be able to come back. But then he thought of Gansey. He thought of Gansey, golden and shining and asking him something with his hands outstretched. 

In his mind’s eye, Adam reached back, sunk to his knees, and swore all of himself to Gansey. Anything to keep him safe, anything to keep him. Gansey smiled at him, dimples deepening, and for just a moment there was a flash of something Unknowable and Arcane in his eyes. Adam gasped, both in the real world and deep below where the ley line was coming alive.

He was up on his feet without deciding to be so, and he felt himself move and fling his arms like a puppet. 

Bea whinnied somewhere to his left, and went down in a painful tumble, throwing Ronan forward. He ducked into a roll at the last minute, but he still fell hard, still splayed out. Thrown heavily, he was limp for a long minute that Adam couldn’t stand to see the end of. He flung his hands out and gathered invisible threads between his fingers and pulled them all taut and towards himself, grimly satisfied when Barrington wobbled, a cut opened up across his cheek, and the glow in his eyes flickered. 

He held Barrington immobile, squeezed with the ropes of magic as they gathered strength, cutting into cloth and skin, and tightened until Barrington buckled. 

From behind Barrington, Ronan rose, sword up and steady, and plunged it through his chest. Barrington convulsed, jerking forward, his mouth open wordless and pained. 

The glade quieted, the winds lessening, the undeads’ limbs clumsy and collapsing, the shaking of the ground stilling. Not completely, but Barrington was losing strength and hold on it all. 

Barrington collapsed to the ground, gasping and cursing their names, bleeding freely. 

Adam didn’t feel like he was faring much better, spent and raw;  Ronan was bruised and his shoulder hanging awkward. But Adam was still standing and Ronan pulled his sword free quick and vicious, despite the flash of pain across his streaked face. 

“Give it up,” Ronan hissed. “You’ll never have him. And you’ll never use those vile powers of yours, either, after today. You’ve lost.” He rounded Barrington’s form, coming up beside Adam and glaring at the necromancer in warning.

Barrington spit blood into the grass between them. “ _Never.”_ He pushed himself up on shaking hands. “The ley line will be _mine.”_ Off in the forest came that blood-chilling scream, deeper now, closer now. 

Trees split and cracked as they bent violently, and a gust of pure power threw Ronan and Adam back across the glade. 

A red dragon appeared between the tree tops and dropped into the glade heavy enough to cause another quake. It roared, head back, billowing a plume of fire into the air. Wide and heavy, the dragon was spiked on every joint, every nob of its spine. Molten globs of saliva dripped from its protruding fangs. It crouched, poised, growling so deep it seemed to fill the air--the cavity of Adam’s chest. He couldn’t look away from the yellow eyes; partially fear but mostly he was trapped in its gaze that seemed to pierce right through him. 

They couldn’t fight a dragon. They couldn’t take down a dragon that big when they were both already weakened and exhausted. Hopelessness twisted around his heart like a vice, and when he managed to glance at Barrington, he was grinning. The darkness seeped out of him and soaked into the grass, creeping its way over to get its claws into Adam. 

“We’re doomed,” he whispered.

“Of course there’s more dragons,” Ronan grumbled. He stumbled closer to Adam, hanging off Bea’s neck heavily, legs shaking. “I warned Helen, but--”

Adam didn’t hear the rest. The air crackled and his skin burned, the hair on his arms lifting in warning of something like a storm, just before lightning struck. But the dark clouds above them remained quiet despite their sick yellow and black colors. 

His ears began to ring, sharp and piercing, and he winced. He ducked his head, trying to cover them, clawing at them, but it didn’t help. Blood dripped from his nose and down his chin.

The ringing grew louder and clearer. It was a scream. But it wasn’t his. 

The air _popped_ , and Adam thought it was just his ears, if not for the space before him bending and twisting and ripping open. 

It was Noah. 

Somehow there in a second, and he was the one screaming. But he didn’t look like he normally did. Gone was the wane and smudgy boy. Noah was corporeal, and then a boy on _fire_ ; all his edges burning and expanding and turning into a creature more a suggestion of shape that leaned toward Barrington, mouth opening into the jaws of something more dangerous. He roared right back at the dragon, and it sounded the same.

Adam’s vision flickered dark, and he pushed himself up onto his knees, forcing himself to stay awake. It was Noah. Noah was here. Noah was here because of _him._ Somehow, because he felt himself fading, felt cold creep in and Noah drew and drew from him until he had substance and light and _power._

Adam couldn’t imagine this is what Noah had looked like in life, but he thought maybe this is what Noah might’ve become, if Barrington’s ritual had worked and twisted Noah’s own magic into something unhinged and diseased. 

Noah: shaking, burning, his newly acquired body destroying itself into something towering.  

“ ** _That’s my dragon_** _,”_ Noah screamed. The winds picked up around him, whipping at the fire streaming off him and tugging it into a spiral. “ ** _You stole my dragon. You stole my life and my power. Barrington Whelk, I’m going to destroy everything you’ve ever been_** _.”_

Adam heard Ronan gasp from beside him, but he couldn’t look away. Ronan’s arms appeared around him, holding him up, pulling him close and wiping the blood from his mouth. 

The dragon hesitated, hackles lowering slightly. It cocked its head at Noah. 

Noah said something deep and cracking that was not English nor Latin, and the dragon’s eyes cleared. 

It bristled and turned on Barrington. 

Barrington barely had time to scream before he was nothing but blood and shadows and wisps of crackling purple that vanished into the air. 

Relief flooded Adam as the dark hold Barrington had on him vanished, and he collapsed into Ronan. But Noah still burned and raged. The dragon roared up at the sky, and then at Noah, claws sinking into the ground to steady itself and stand up against Noah. They screamed at each other, and briefly Adam was terrified the dragon would turn on them next. Or even Noah would. 

But he was too exhausted to be properly scared. He lay in Ronan’s arms and waited. 

Ronan had always trusted Noah, had always believed in him, and now Adam had to trust that Ronan had always been right. 

Noah turned toward them, the wind blowing the flames away from him so Adam could make out the outline of his body and his face, his bright smile, his cheek whole and filled. 

He’d never seen a lich before, and he hoped he’d never have to see one again. 

Noah stepped closer--Ronan’s arms tightened, even as he leaned towards Noah, his grief palpable--and stopped just as Adam winced at the heat of coming off of Noah burning his skin. 

“ ** _You’ll take care of him?”_** Noah asked, voice echoing and grating. Adam wasn’t sure who, or what, Noah was referring to. Wasn’t sure if he was asking Ronan to take care of Gansey, or Adam to take care of Ronan, or either of them to deal with his dragon. Maybe it was none of those things, maybe Noah was speaking to the ley line about the group of them, when they were all tangled up within it.

“With my life,” Ronan promised. Tears hit Adam’s face. 

Noah smiled and bowed. He began to disintegrate from the feet up, burning away as if suddenly made of dry parchment that someone had set flame to. He was eaten up into nothing more than a shower of sparks flying up into the sky. 

The dragon howled, rearing up as it spewed fire up into the heavens. But when it dropped down to earth, it laid down flat, tail lashing upset and snout pressed dejected to its paws. 

It stared at them, eyes clear and gold and intelligent, and they stared back. 

The dragon snorted at them, petulant. 

Adam’s tenuous hold on his vision went dark just as he heard hooves in the distance. He managed a weak smile, because he’d recognize the uneven gate of Pignus anywhere.   
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

The days after the confrontation with Barrington passed at both a crawl and faster than Gansey could keep up with.

After the caves, after his own panic attack, after Blue single-handedly beating back three undead warriors, after Henry pushed him to keep going, after coming upon Glendower’s beautiful tomb and the moment where he was not a king-to-be but a mere boy wracked with doubt and shaking hands—

After it all, feeling both utterly changed and oddly just the same, they’d returned to the Glade just as Adam had collapsed, and everything had happened terribly quickly. There wasn’t time to celebrate or even a moment to process, just a quick overview of status and injury and then racing back to the manor to get them all treated. To have Adam looked at. Ronan stuck to Gansey the whole time, hands constantly sweeping over his shoulders-arms-chest-face, taking stock and grounding himself with the familiar-as-life form of Gansey and making sure everything was where it should be.

But Adam… Adam was grey and his chest rattling with every shallow breath and something about him so innately _weak._

And _Noah._ Noah was supposed to be here, was supposed to meet them back here at the manor whether they succeeded or not, to report on Barrington and the state of the ley lines. But he was absent, not even a shadow hiding within Blue’s. He asked Ronan only twice to start with, because each time he asked, Ronan had looked at him with such loss and fury Gansey wasn’t sure if Ronan was going to lash out at him or… well, _himself._

For the first day, Adam did not wake. There were rushing servants and yelling parents and endless explaining.

For the second day, Adam did not wake. There was checking wounds and more scolding parents.

For the third day, Adam did not wake. There was revisited negotiation talks and plans to begin the next section of his training for this new chapter of his life. He talked with Henry a lot, too, about kingly duties and more personal ones.

 

On the eve of the third day, Adam inhaled heavy and long, and fluttered open his beautifully warm hazel eyes. Gansey was right there to be the first to see them, and was grateful for the blessing that it could be him to see Adam first before he became overwhelmed with physicians and questions and worry.

“How are you feeling? I’m glad you’re still with us,” Gansey said. He squeezed the hand he had around Adam’s, and reached with his other to push the limp hair off Adam’s forehead. Adam barely shifted at the touch, eyes still a touch glassy and the skin beneath his freckles too pale, his veins showing as little blue lines that sometimes seemed more green.

Adam often reminded Gansey of a frequently read book: rough around the edges, feathered, ruffled, and a little out of sorts. But he was still beautiful and, just like one of Gansey’s books, loved.

“I…” Adam’s voice cracked, as did his dry lips.

Gansey gently thumbed away the drip of blood and held a cup of water to his mouth, careful not to go too quickly. “More?”

Adam swallowed, but shook his head. “I don’t know. I feel… am I dead?”

Gansey smiled, shaking his head quickly. “Not at all. The opposite. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive.” But this wasn’t about him, even if he was bursting to tell Adam everything. “Sorry, are you in any discomfort?”

For a long moment Adam only blinked at him, lashes long and sluggish up close. Gansey was lost in it for just as long.

“I… I don’t think so. Mostly I think I… feel nothing. Like I’m stuffed up full of cotton.” His speech slurred just a little, but that was not all that surprising.

“Got you on the best pain suppressants in the kingdom,” Gansey assures him. “It’s just that. You’re okay. You’re… you _are_ okay, right?”

“I haven’t used that much magic in years, Gans,” small and thin, almost scared if Gansey didn’t know better. “And Noah used up the rest of it. I think.”

Gansey inhaled audible and fast. “It’s gone?”

Adam frowned, nose scrunching. “No. It’s there, but like a seedling.” Something transparent in Adam’s eyes shook. “Small, I’ll have to—” his throat tripped and faltered. He swallowed, breathing labored as his lashes fluttered. “I’ll have to work at it again. Like before. I think. I don’t know, Gans, I’ve never let myself use it like that.”

Gansey’s heart tripped—tripped over hope and wonder. “No?”

Adam swallowed again, blinking tired eyes open to look up at him. Hushed, “No. I was scared it would consume me. Magic is addictive. But… but this time I…” A touch of color rose under Adam’s wane skin. “I couldn’t think about that. You needed me.”

Gansey didn’t feel the tear on his face until it dripped down to hit Adam’s nose. Adam flinched, blinking in bewilderment. Gansey laughed, cleared the emotion from his throat, and thumbed the moisture from Adam’s face. “Oh, Adam—”

Adam frowned, petulant and embarrassed immediately, looking like he wanted to squirm away.

“—you magnificent, marvelous man.” Gansey leaned in to bury Adam in a hug that surely must have pained his healing body, but for once Adam said nothing. His arms, shaking, came up to wrap around Gansey in turn, and didn’t let go.

 

Later, Adam sitting up enough to be handed small pieces of bread and cheese to nibble on, he looked at Gansey and carefully asked, “Did you find him?”

Gansey wrinkled his nose in a deep frown, worry having him pressing the back of his hand to Adam’s forehead. “Are you losing memories? Yes, we found Barrington, _you_ were the one to—”

Adam huffed a laugh and shook Gansey’s hand off, but not protesting when his fingers ran down his cheek first. “No, not him. I remember. And don’t let Ronan hear you say that, he… I didn’t finish Whelk off, not where it counted.” A light of curiosity and hunger sparked in Gansey’s eyes, but Adam just shook his head; it wasn’t his story to tell and they both knew it deep down. “Glendower. I trust Henry and Blue got you there?”

Gansey nodded, struggling for words. How was he to explain the harrowing journey there when most of the danger and distress had been in his own mind? How was he going to convey how glorious the tomb had been, and how when he breathed, all the cobwebs moved and made the tomb seem to breathe with him? How was he supposed to describe the rush and euphoria and dread that threatened to rob him when he’d pushed back the slab keeping Glendower asleep?

“They did,” he managed. “I… I don’t know how to put it in words.” But he tried. He spoke halting and determined, trying to spin an immersive tale for Adam to drop into and _see_ , when he hadn’t been able to be there, when they both had always assumed he would be. It panged Gansey’s heart a little, that Adam had become such a pivotal part of this quest, and he had not even been able to see it completed.

“He was real,” Adam breathed, shaken. Gansey didn’t begrudge him his surprise; there were moments in his own search that he doubted if this wasn’t all an elaborate metaphor.

“Yes,” and Gansey felt the rush in his chest all over again just to remember. “Yes, he was.”

“Did he gi—”

“ _Yes._ _”_

They stared at each other, elated and breathless and the anticipation between them thick enough to almost stifle the candles on the bedside. Adam’s eyes were wide and shining, eager and hungry like they got when they’d stayed up too late drinking at the pub and looking over maps—like the younger boys they used to be. Adam’s eyes shone with the need to _ask,_ but holding himself back, because that was who Adam was at the base of everything.

Gansey wanted him to ask. Gansey wanted to tell him. Not before, when things had been too tentative and there was the very real fear there would not be a wish offered. Not when he had chosen something, and then changed it at the last minute.

“Go ahead,” Gansey whispered. “You may ask anything of me, and I will always do my best to answer. You are allowed, at least with me, to ask.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose as his lips parted slightly in surprise.

Maybe that was too much, maybe that was too forward, even now. But Adam had to _know,_ didn’t he? After all this time and all they had been through, Gansey was his, and would do a lot to keep him in return. If that was what Adam wished.

“What did you ask him, Gansey?”

Gansey allowed himself a quiet moment to soak in Adam’s rare openness. “I asked for Noah’s freedom. To do what he wanted and what he deserved.”

Adam’s eyes shone again, not with magic or emotion, but tears, even if they didn’t fall. “You did? All that and… and you gave it away?”

Gansey shook his head. “It was what was right. I feel awful I didn’t know he was still suffering, and if I could do something to fix that? Of course I wanted to. It was my fault, in a way, he was even like that.”

“Gods above, Gansey, of course it isn’t! What about the kingdom? What about the ley line, or… there’s Henry, too.”

Gansey shrugged, smile half-hearted and sheepish. “Still, I… I have most everything I need, and I can work on getting the rest on my own?” He ghosted his fingers along Adam’s where his hand lay in the blankets between them.

“I suppose,” Adam said. Careful, but hopeful in his own way.

“Is it my turn to ask a question?” And then before Adam could become wary and guarded, “About Noah. What did—do you know what happened with him? Ronan won’t tell me.”

“He cared for him,” Adam reminded him softly. He twisted his hand to take Gansey’s, clumsy but determined. “We saw it happen, the result of your wish. He… he used it to come and _save_ us. It was a spectacle; you would’ve liked to see it.”

Gansey smiled bright in relief, squeezed Adam’s hand, and leaned forward. “Would you recount it for me? I want to know. I want to remember.”

“We will,” Adam promised.

  
  
~*~

 

The next mid-morning, Henry picked up one of his bishops and toyed with it, making Gansey flatten his lips and sigh through his nose. He liked playing chess, and he liked chatting with Henry, but trying to combine the two he was finding was a mess as Henry often became distracted and started moving pieces at random.

“I know you know how to play properly,” Gansey chided.

Henry smiled, making his eyes crinkle, as he set his piece back down. “Sorry. But you’re cute when you frown like that. My sister makes the same face.”

Gansey huffed, but moved his knight and sat back. The library was deserted save for the two of them, Ronan and Blue out practicing something dangerous and wicked with partisans and flails; he could hear their peals of laughter through the window propped open beside them. Gansey liked to be able to glance out over the practice arena and see them advancing on each other in increasingly ridiculous and impractical ways. Adam was still resting, probably in his room unless he tried to be contrary and get up _again_. And Noah was—

“You know I have to leave,” Henry said again.

Gansey frowned; he’d hoped that if he’d ignored him the first time, it would simply cease being true. “I suppose. It seems we barely got time to get, well, reacquainted, with everything going on.”

“It was never supposed to be a social visit,” Henry reminded him. “That old thing called diplomacy getting in the way.” He moved another piece on the board.

“I’m sorry, that things are different now.”

“Are you?”

Gansey had to think about that, but he found it true. “Of course.” But how was Henry supposed to know that? They traded countless letters over the years, had shared a few private hours late in the evening here when the rest of the manor went to bed, but they’d never addressed… _this._ “I was always sad to think of leaving here, but I enjoyed our visits as children. But now the crown.” He blew out a breath, slumping some in his chair and propping his chin on his fist, as he considered his next move on the board without seeing any of the pieces at all.

“I never expected to have to rule like this, and I liked the freedom of it. But I love my kingdom and my people, and I cannot let my parents down. I had my chance at reckless freedom to pursue my passion, and I can’t begrudge Helen for wanting the same.” Even if sometimes he still did. “I’m only sorry that it complicates things between us. Arranged marriages… they’re rarely easy, but there was a part of me that was optimistic about ours all the same.”

Henry smiled at him, kind and indulgent. “But then you met Adam.”

Gansey glanced down, heat building in his cheeks. “That was not planned, I assure you.”

“These things rarely are.” And tragically, when Henry said _these things_ it sounded an awful lot like _true love._

Disappointment and childish stubbornness rose in Gansey all at once, as it often did when he was not used to being told no, and he blurted, frustrated, “But can I not have both? Why must I choose? Why must any of us chose? A kingdom or freedom? Love or duty? One affection over the other? I am to be king, does that not mean I can shape the kingdom as I please and do what is right for myself just as I would the people? Am I not a person of this kingdom, too?”  

Henry gaped at him; audibly enough Gansey was emboldened to look up. He frowned, setting his jaw petulantly. All this time he was being pushed to sacrifice and give up, to leave childish notions behind. But he shouldn’t have to lose to gain, should he? Could things not mature and grow as they did from children to adults?

It simply wasn’t fair, and Gansey was one of the few people who was born into a position to do something about it.

“I cannot say it will be easy, there is a lot both of us have to shoulder now, but…” He reached across the table, knocking over several pieces on the chess board, to take Henry’s hand. “I do not want to give you up, just because I think I have to, just because we both have our own kingdoms now. We share a border, after all, we’re really not that far if pressed. And… and Henry, we share a border now, but maybe we do not always have to abide by that border.”

“That’s a lot to ask of our people,” Henry said, hushed.

“It is, but… maybe after some time. Maybe that is something we can work towards. Just as I’d like to work towards more, with you. I am… very fond of you, Henry.”

“What about your Adam?” Henry asked, because otherwise he was going to say how fond he was of Gansey in turn and they’d make no progress.

“I think Adam understands the nature of duality it takes to be nobility, and I think… I _hope_ that he can understand to have me is to always share me, with my kingdom, with my crown, maybe even with you. If he even wants me.”

“I’ve watched how he looks at you,” Henry said, lips twisting wry. “I think it’s only himself holding him back from all but showing up at your window during the witching hour.”

It brought a smile to Gansey’s face and he was glad for the moment of levity. “I won’t ask you to wait for me, or do try for something that makes you uncomfortable or might not even work. But… if you care for me and would like to try…”

“I’m not sure your pet snake won’t gut me,” Henry teased, “but Adam is very handsome, and his mind is sharp. Even when he’s scowling at me.”

Light unfolded in Gansey’s chest, warming him with hope and the giddiness that came with it. “He—he does scowl a lot, doesn’t he?”

Henry squeezed his hand. “It’s a good thing it does nothing to detract from his charm, isn’t it?”

 

~*~

 

The Gansey’s decided to stay at the estate for another few days after everything settled, to decompress and take a few days of genuine rest before returning to the capital. But they see the Cheng’s off the next day, and it’s a somber affair. Even Adam’s present for it, propped up on Ronan’s shoulder.

“Keep writing me,” Henry begged Gansey, hands tight in his.

“You couldn’t stop me. I’ll let you know how my training goes and what new quest I inevitably fall into with Ronan. Oh, and I think Helen and Orla are interested in looking for dragons farther east?” He half twisted to look to Helen, emboldened by her nod. He smiled at her, at how things were a little easier between them, and then brighter at how Henry immediately assured her that she’d always be welcome.

“Tell me when you can next visit, yes?” Gansey finished, somewhat subdued.

“As long as you promise to come after harvest. And I’ll send you whatever boring old book I find decaying in our library.”

They grinned at each other, and Henry turned his boyish excitement onto Adam.

Adam, to his own surprise, flushed under the attention and looked down. But he barely protested when Henry strode up to him, pulled him into a careful embrace, and left a kiss on his cheek.

“You write me as well, yes? Your advice the other night has given me a lot to think about, and I’m eager to hear more. As well as about your druidic abilities. I’m sure your adventures with those are something to hear, and I’m sad we didn’t have the time this visit.”

Adam flushed brighter and looked away, but he swallowed and said. “I can write. And maybe… maybe by the time you return, so will my magic in full force.”

Henry’s eyes _shone,_ and the whole exchange made Gansey’s chest fit to burst with affection and the delightful unknowability of what might come.

“I look forward to it. You should come with Gansey, too, when he visits. Keep him company until then, yes? You’ll have to make up for my absence. Let him not go a day without affection, he deserves it.”

Adam’s eyes went wide, looking stricken between Henry and Gansey. He mumbled something Gansey couldn’t quite hear, but it made Henry brighten in spades.

Possibility unspooled before Gansey, like strengthened ley lines, and for the first time this new chapter of his life was not something to be dreaded, but embraced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, finished! Thanks to everyone who stuck through to the end and left comments and encouragement <3 I really enjoyed writing within this genre and theme, and even more so it was important that I finish something of this length. It's been a while since I've done a chaptered fic, and it's good to know I can still finish one ;)
> 
> There's more stories to be told in this verse, but we'll see if I have the time and energy to actually write them. In a perfect world, there'd be two prequels (Ronan and Adam seeking the druids; Helen, Declan, and Orla hunting dragons) and an epilogue of the ot3 smut variety, but like I said. We'll see. 
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading, and thanks for sticking with me. =)


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